


Memories of you like scars under my skin

by GreenQueenofClubs



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, Pining, and theyre both assholes, before flint met the hamilton, canon-divergence, theyre both idiots, what if silver and flint had met before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-09 05:52:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6892705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenQueenofClubs/pseuds/GreenQueenofClubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Silver was a spry young man when he first met Lieutenant James McGraw.</p><p>Ten years later, he's still almost all those things,  but Captain Flint now wears the face of the man he had known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. James

**Author's Note:**

> I'm basically retelling the events of the first 3 seasons, if Silver and Flint had met before, ten years before the show started, when Flint was still in the Navy.  
> Other than what has been specifically addressed in the text, I'm going of the assumption that everything else in the story went the same as in the show, even if they probably wouldn't have.

Lieutenant McGraw stood at the bow of the ship as it made its way into Port Royal’s harbor. They had been sailing their way across the ocean for several weeks by then, and he hadn’t seen land since the coast of England had disappeared under the horizon. James couldn’t help but long for solid land under his feet. No matter he had been serving in the Navy for over a decade, no matter how comfortable and at home he felt on a ship, he was eager to escape the cramped quarters and increasingly irritable fellow crew members.

The higher officers that could leave the ship were the first ones off, then, finally, James could board a boat as well. He was too aware of the scrutiny of his fellow officers to let out more than a relieved sigh when his boots left the water, but the urge to remove them and enjoy the feel of sand against his bare feet was hard to resist.

As the rest of the crew, except for the poor souls that drew the first rotation on the skeleton crew, made their way to the beach behind him, James left for the town. He wanted to get himself a single room while they were still available. They were only staying in Port Royal for a few days, and James would be damned if he had to share his room with another sucker.

The room he acquired was small, but it was reasonably clean, and most importantly dry and private. James resisted the temptation to lie down to catch up on his sleep, and rather chose to go enjoy his brief liberty.

As he walked through the town, he caught sight of a few of his crew mates enjoying a pint at the various taverns, or gossiping with the locals. He also spied a few of them sneaking away to remote buildings he could only guess were whore houses.

James sniffed bemusedly, and walked on. He had no interest in engaging strangers, either to obtain irrelevant information or to ‘scratch an itch’ in the arms of a woman he would feel little attraction toward.

He debated for a moment whether to enter in the tavern where he knew the officers gathered when in town, but decided against it. He knew the officers on his ships appreciated him, if only because after so many years serving by their sides, he had proven his worth as a Lieutenant, regardless of his origins. He had no doubt, however, that the others less familiar with him would not be so kind, and he had no patience to deal with them at the moment.

James bought himself a loaf of bread still warm from the oven and fresh fruits, neither of which he had enjoyed in far too long, and walked back to the beach. He sat himself down on the sand, under the shade of a large tropical tree, far enough from the ships and the main access to land to be left in peace. Only then did he finally relent and remove his boots, sinking his feet into the sand with a relieved groan, leaning back against the trunk of the tree to enjoy his meal. He looked on as people came and went, busying themselves around the various ships in the bay, carrying crates of goods, fishing for gossip or simply pretending to work.

It was the third time James made it to the West Indies, and the stifling heat never failed to take him by surprise. It couldn’t be more different than England’s wet coldness, and James never could help but wonder whether it meant that an Englishman couldn’t live down there, or that they would need to shed everything that made them English to survive it.

With a sigh, he let his head fall back against the tree, and closed his eyes, trying to soak in the quiet and peace while he could.  He had to admit, as he shucked off his coat, the warmth was enjoyable if one could stand to be idle in the shadow.

James was just dozing off when he heard someone running his way, and he cracked open his eyes just in time to see a young man sprinting his way. Frowning, he straightened up just as the other passed him by. He could hear people shouting from some distance, but whoever was pursuing the man was still out of sight.

James barely had the time to register the man’s dark curly hair and his scrappy clothes before he turned toward him with a confident, blinding grin and wide too-innocent-to-be-sincere eyes.

“Good day, sir. I’m sorry to bother you in such a manner, but I find myself in a tricky situation, and I would be eternally thankful if you could help me dispose of the gentlemen tailing me?” He grinned winningly at James, eyes sparkling.

James was too stunned, either by the young man’s brazen words or captivating face, to formulate any kind of answer. Before he could regain his senses, the pursuers shouted once more, and the other man swiftly slipped out of sight between the trees with one last grin.

James turned back toward the beach just before the men came into view and caught him staring dumbfounded at the trees. They growled their way toward him, and one of them gruffly asked James if he had seen someone come this way.

“There was a young man, dark hair, clear eyes. Is this the man you speak of?” James kept his tone polite but disinterested, looking the other straight in the eyes. He was glad that now that the bewildering young man was gone, he had regained the use of his voice and senses.

“Yeah, that’s the scoundrel. Where’s he?” The man spun around, as if glaring hard enough at the sand would make the other man pop out of it.

James took as second to assess the group, and found them half a dozen men, most squat and thick, a few lean and mean, several sporting a wide variety of scars and remnants of past injuries. While he disliked the idea of lying if he didn’t have to, James couldn’t help but balk at the prospect of the slight man facing six men who could probably each snap him in half all on their own.

“I’m sorry if I’m am prying in private matters, but what is the nature of your disagreement with the man?” He asked, weighing his options.

The leader of the pack turned his glare to him, displeased that he didn’t answer his questions directly and give the young man an opportunity to increase his lead on them, but before he could tell James off, another of his man, a tall thin one, jumped in, too angry to think clearly about such things as time sensitivity.

If he was ever able to think clearly about anything, which James doubted.

“Little cheat made fucking fools of us, insulting and tricking us out of our own fucking money in our own fucking tavern!” He spat, his hands going to the knife on his belt.

James noted the way he slurred his words despite his anger. He cast a quick look to the others and found several of them unsteady on their feet. Drunk as midday was barely passed it seemed. James suddenly had very little sympathy for these men who, through their own decadence, had made themselves easy targets for any clever soul who passed through town.

With a calm nod, he inclined his head toward the other end of the beach, keeping his tone detached.

“He went running that way, but what his final destination might be, I would not know.” He answered, before settling back against the tree. He turned his gaze once more to the bay, dismissing the others without a word.

Not that any of them would take offense. They had already forgotten about him, their addled mind once more consumed by the chase.

James didn’t have to wait for too long before the young man reappeared from the tree line. He skipped up to him and plopped himself down beside James. James couldn’t help but notice that he had chosen the side where James would shield him from view long enough for him to disappear once more, should the group of angry drunks decide to retrace their steps on the way back,.

When he raised an eyebrow to throw an inquiring look at the young man, his sharp grin made it clear it had been intentional.

Clever man indeed.

“I’m terribly sorry for not introducing myself properly before. I am John Silver, at your service!” The man, _Silver_ , proclaimed with another wide smile. James was beginning to wonder whether he knew how to close his mouth properly. He nevertheless shook the offered hand with a strong grip that the other matched easily.

“Lieutenant James McGraw.” He mostly succeeded at keeping his curiosity out of his voice, but Silver’s face told him he wasn’t fooled.

“Well, Lieutenant James McGraw, you have my endless gratitude for coming to my aid. These gentlemen were becoming very aggravating.” His voice was smooth in a way that made everything he said sound convincing, his words more intelligent and cultured than James had the habit of finding in such a place.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t swindle people that could become more _aggravating_ than you can handle.” James answered evenly, but with a small grin that belied his tone.

Silver waved a dismissive hand.

“Please, I had the situation perfectly under control. And how could I resent anything that allowed me to befriend such charming company?” He squinted as he looked James over, before coming back up to smile at him once more. James suddenly felt hot and uncomfortable under the Caribbean sun, and he cleared his throat, hands fidgeting uselessly in front of him.

“How could you possibly have known I wouldn’t tell them where you were?” James asked, trying to regain the upper hand, trying to gather some of his eloquence back together.

“Well, I am incredibly easy to like”, Silver answered grandly, gesturing wildly at himself. James found himself staring. Silver didn’t have the most handsome face he had ever seen, a bit too round and lacking in chin to be considered such, but it was marvellously expressive in a way that made it mesmerizing, and his bright blue eyes shone with intelligence.

“I do not think your friends over there would agree with that assessment.” James was proud that he kept all trace of appreciation out of his wry tone.

“Let’s say I’m well-liked by anyone with enough brain power to appreciate my true worth. And you seemed both a smart man and an honourable one, who would never dream of leaving an innocent man face such brutes by himself.” Replied quickly Silver, and James could have sworn he inched closer to him.

“I would hardly call you innocent.”

“I assure you, I have broken no law, nor have I cheated these gentlemen. I offered them a game of card, of which I respected all the rules, and if they couldn’t keep up with me, well that is hardly my fault, is it?” Once again, his voice and smile enticed James to believe him, to agree with him.

Only this time, James chose to simply give him an unimpressed look, and refrained from answering, looking back to the bay.

“Where are you from?” Apparently Silver disagreed with his plan of interrupting the conversation. James turned his head toward him marginally, just enough to cock an eyebrow at him. Silver seemed to consider that all the encouragement he needed, and he leaned forward.

“I mean, you’re obviously from England, with the accent and the Navy. But I’ve not been around your folks long enough to differentiate you all by sound alone. I’m from Charleston myself, back on the continent.”

“I’m from London.” James chose to answer shortly, not sure if Silver was expecting him to be as verbose as himself.

“Truly? I’ve never been to London, but I’ve heard it’s quite grey and dreary.”

“It can be. Especially compared to the sun of the West Indies.” James surprised himself by offering a longer answer. Silver seemed delighted at his newfound cooperation and gestured up at the sky.

“I don’t think I could live in such a place. Give me the light of the sun any day over the cold.”

James had to admit that tanned skin quite agreed with Silver, and that should he ever stay in London long enough to turn pale like so many of James’ compatriots, he would probably lose some of his charm.

James’ ground his mind to a halt, cursing inwardly. He couldn’t afford to entertain those thoughts, not in such small a town, not when his superiors and fellow crew members would be scrutinising him.

“Well it is fortunate England fell to my lot and not yours.” James answered evenly.

“Luck has always been my friend, I must admit.” Had he been a weaker man, James would have qualified the look Silver threw his way of enticing leer, but he quickly shoved that thought aside as a misinterpretation on his part.

Surely, someone as clever as Silver would not be stupid enough to try and seduce a military man in broad daylight and in easy distance of numerous Navy ships.

Even _if_ he shared James dangerous proclivities.

As if sensing James’ unease, Silver smoothly redirected the conversation toward calmer waters. He spoke of his fantastical travels, of the wondrous people he’d met and mystical places he’d seen.

It was all obvious bullshit, and Silver clearly never intended to be believed, but he weaved his words in such a seamless fashion that the stories took appearances of old jokes between intimate friends, and James found himself humouring him.

He interjected gamely whenever Silver deigned to pause, prodding the other man into flourishing his tales with even more outrageous lies.

“-and then I answered “Lockhart, if your ears were to grow even an inch larger, we could use them to sail the ship, and what a relief that would be to tie you to the mast where we wouldn’t have to suffer the stench of your farts anymore!” Silver finished his story with a ridiculous twirl hands, and James couldn’t help but burst out laughing, a full, loud laugh like he hadn’t had in too long.

He fell back against his tree, eyes closed as he tried to rein himself in, with moderate success, but eventually he stopped shaking with mirth, and he turned back to Silver with a grin.

The younger man was smiling too, as he was want to do, but it was softer than his usual cocky grins, almost wondering as he stared at Flint, leaning a bit closer to the other man than he had been previously.

Flint swallowed his smile, belly twisting. Clenching his fists, he answered drolly.

“I can’t imagine Mr. Lockhart appreciated the jab immensely.”

“Ah, the man was as daft as a cow, by the time he caught on to what I was saying, I was long gone.” Silver shrugged his shoulder dismissively.

A silence fell, and James, who so valued his peace when he could get it, found himself wishing for something to say, anything to spark conversation, and yet fell short. He looked away awkwardly, twisting his hands.

“What about you, Lieutenant James McGraw? What tales of untold adventures do you carry with you?” Silver came to his aid, nudging him lightly with his shoulder.

It was James’ turn to shrug.

“No much shenanigans to get up to on a military ship.” He said.

“Men are men everywhere, James. You can’t stick a hundred of them on a ship for weeks on end and have them behave themselves at all hours of the day.” Silver prodded with a cheeky grin.

“They do if they wish to improve their positions.” James’ tone was sharper then he had wanted it to be, laden with years of fighting for where he was now and where he wished to be in the future.

Silver started at his tone, moving away an inch. James immediately regretted the distance, and shot him an apologetic look. The man stared for a few second more before nodding and relaxing his stance once more.

“Well, Lieutenant McGraw, after I told you my story so well, will you let me know nothing of yours?” he asked, not exactly changing the subject, but the playful edge in his smile gave James an out, should he wish it.

James didn’t have Silver’s wild imagination, but he had stories to tell. They weren’t his, but then again, Silver’s hadn’t been either.

So he told Silver his favorite story, of a man arrogant enough to defy a god who found himself punished by a decade of meandering the world, losing everything he had and was before he was allowed to come back home.

By the time his weary traveler was finally allowed to find solace in the arms of his Penelope, his voice was hoarse, the sun was long gone, and Silver’s side was pressed against his. James had forced himself to ignore the warmth of his body, his hooded eyes, and the way he seemed entranced by James’ tale, trembling and gasping and cheering as if he was part of the story himself.

James ignored all of this and the way his gut twisted every time in answer. He ignored it because to heed it would be folly.

Silence fell once more on them, but this time James didn’t resent it. It felt like a breath of fresh air, and he willed his mind to get back under control.

“That was quite a story for so young a person to have lived.” Silver broke the quiet, of course he did, his voice hushed.

James couldn’t find something to answer to that, and simply turned his head to look at Silver. The moonlight only touched half of his face, leaving his expressions undecipherable to James.

Silver stared right back at him. James didn’t know what his own face was showing, didn’t know what Silver could see or understand.

Silver’s warmth was intoxicating. The darkness seemed to envelop them into thick velvet that muted the rest of the world.

James saw Silver moving. He saw him leaning forward, closer and closer still, one hand coming to rest on the tree James was leaning on, right by his head.

Yet James’ mind did not comprehend any of it until Silver’s other hand was resting on his shoulder and his lips were on James.

James gasped into the kiss, one of his hands jumping up to rest light, oh so lightly, on Silver’s waist.

For a second, for a heavenly moment, his world was nothing but soft lips and a clever tongue, a warm body against his and shifting muscles under his palm.

A nip on his lips jarred him back to reality, and his eyes flew open.

He scrambled away, climbing to his feet in an inelegant fit of desperation, sending Silver sprawling on the sand.

James started cursing under his breathe, spinning in direction of the town. Silver jumped to his feet, behind him, grabbing his wrist.

“James?” he said, tone bewildered and a bit hurt.

“Let me go.” James answered without turning back. He couldn’t bring himself to wring himself free. He couldn’t bring himself to shake Silver off.

“What are you talking about? We were just getting started.” Silver’s voice slid into silky tones, those who cajoled you into doing as he wanted.

And James _wanted_ to do as he wanted. He still felt the liquid heat burning through his body, and he wanted more of it, until he was charred, until he couldn’t feel anything anymore.

How could he want something so dangerous? How could he be ready to risk himself for carnal pleasures?

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

He felt the fire gather to his chest and he spun around, hissing at Silver, grabbing the front of his shirt to keep him at a safe distance.

“ _We_ weren’t starting anything. Nothing was or will be happening and you will let me go.”

“You’ve been looking all day, James, let’s not pretend this was all in my head. You wanted to kiss me, you did, and now you want more. It’s all yours to take, James. I’m all yours to take.” Silver started leaning forward, pushing against Flint’s fist with a sinful smirk.

James’ possessive urges flared up at the prospect of _having_ someone like Silver, his knees weakening for a second.

James felt his grip on Silver’s shirt loosen. Silver’s smile widened as he felt it too. James shook himself, glaring daggers at the younger man.

“If you think I will risk my reputation, my life and my career just for- for- for _this_ , then you have known nothing of me.” He pushed Silver away, strongly enough to get his point across, but not to hurt him or unbalance him.

He turned around again, and made it a few steps before Silver stopped him again with hands on his waist, plastering himself against his back.

James froze, fists clenching.

“Oh James,” James resolutely ignored how Silver twisted his tongue around his name, whispering in his ear “I assure you _this_ would be worth anything, all the gold in the New World. Stay here, stay with me, I’ll make you fly. I promise you won’t get caught, I know all the secrets crannies of this island. Stay, you know you want to. Let the _Lieutenant_ sleep for a night and live a little. I’m all yours to take.”

James hadn’t known that anyone could weaken his knees with only a few words, and yet here he was.

With strength he hadn’t known he possessed, he wrenched himself away from Silver, walking briskly toward the town.

“James!” Silver called after him. He was following him, a few paces behind, not daring to touch him anymore as they came within sight of the town.

James slipped into the street with a sigh of relief and disappointment churning in his belly. After a few paces, he realise he didn’t hear Silver’s steps behind him anymore, and he looked over his shoulder to see that the man had stopped under the lantern of an inn, staring at James’ retreating back.

James saw his heaving chest, his dark eyes and the tantalising peek of skin between the open buttons of his shirt. Every torturous details of Silver’s existence seemed to carve themselves at the back of James’ eyes in that split second.

When he noticed James looking back at him, Silver turned slightly back toward the beach, toward the dangerous darkness that threatened to wake up the worst of James’ desires, his eyes never leaving James, the invitation obvious.

James ignored the yearning in his chest and the tightness of his throat and he turned away one last time, leaving Silver behind at he reached his inn.

His room offered no respite, however.

Every piece of clothing he shed was a tease as it brushed harshly against his oversensitive skin. Every time felt the touch of his fingers he desperately wished they were Silver’s. Every second his brain spun faster and faster, creating wild fantasies of what James could have had.

He slumped into his bed with only his breaches and his under shirt, hoping against hope that sleep could come. However, laying on the thin mattress did nothing but conjure vivid fantasies of Silver climbing in after him.

James groaned and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, but he couldn’t dissipate the thought of Silver straddling his lap, his ass rubbing against James’ groin as he tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it away.

James wriggled his hips to try and remind himself that Silver was in fact not there, that he had left him outside, but his efforts backfired when the fabric of his breaches rubbed again his cock.

James’ eyes flew open as he realised he was hard, harder than he had been in a long while, maybe since he left England, and he swallowed, breathes harsh as he stared at the ceiling.

He didn’t want to touch himself, didn’t want to give Silver any more power over him, even in his imagination, but after several weeks of abstaining himself from any relief for fear of being caught by his men, the chance of his erection waning on its own were slim to none.

With a resigned sigh, James tugged his breaches down, and wrapped his hand around his cock. He gasped, throwing his other arm over his eyes. His feverish mind conjured images of Silver’s cocky smiles and bright eyes.

James imagined sinking his hands into Silver’s dark curls and dragging him into a biting kiss. He remembered the bliss of their brief kiss, and his mind conjured a hundred filthy ways  Silver could have kissed him here, with only the two of them, with a bed and a door.

He squeezed his hands just this side of too tight as he thought of rubbing his cock between Silver’s thighs, feeling all the heavenly warmth of his body over all of his, permeating every inch of James’ skin, sinking in to his very bones.

He thought of Silver gasping and whining and begging for him, never shutting up for a second, driving James’ even madder, his voice conjuring a new universe of sinful pleasures from tin air.

James thought of Silver sobbing his name in his ear as he would come, laying over him, as undone by James as James was by him.

James came with a gasp, arching of the bed as Silver grinned down at him through his mind’s eyes.

 

The next time James opened his eyes, sunlight was streaming through the window. With a quiet groan, he sat up on his bed, carding his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t slept so deeply in a long time, and was about to chalk it up to the luxury of a private room until John Silver pushed himself to the forefront of his thoughts, making James sigh in frustration.

No matter, if his encounter with the young man had earned him a masturbation séance satisfying enough to knock him out for an entire night, it had almost been worth it.

He ignored the spike of regret twisting his gut as he remembered Silver’s offer. No good would have come of it anyway, he tried to convince himself. No intercourse he had ever partaken in, regardless of the gender of his partner had been memorable, and Silver would probably have been the same. He was only on the island for another day and another night, and soon enough the sea winds would blow away the memories of Silver’s maddening grins.

James made his way to the tavern at the ground floor of the inn a few minutes later, asking for food and water as he took a seat at a small table. He cast a lazy look around the room, taking in the expected mix of merchants, officers, ship boys and women in alluring outfits. He was ready to dismiss them all when his stomach plummeted.

Silver was sitting at a table on the other side of the room. He was too far away to speak to James, and the half-finished plate in front of him told James he had been there far longer than him. Nevertheless, the satisfied look in his eyes when James finally noticed him and the way he knowingly raised his glass to him in a mockery of a toast gave James much doubt that his presence was a coincidence.

James clenched his jaw at the impudence of the man, but when he expected Silver to take up his plate and join him, the man simply nodded one more time at him and went back to his meal, his eyes never straying back up to meet James’ again.

Once again, disappointment he shouldn’t be feeling stung his gut and James could barely remember his manners to thank the mistress of the inn when she brought him his own food.

He ate quietly, taking the time to appreciate the tastes and textures as he would tomorrow be back on ship food. Their cook was perfectly competent, but there’s only so much variety to be found when cooking with non-perishable ingredients.

He wished he could say he hadn’t noticed when Silver left, saying his goodbyes to the mistress with a cheerful smile, but he followed his movements from the corner of his eyes.

When he walked out himself, the sun was already up the sky, casting a sizzling heat over the town. Going back to his secluded spot on the beach was out of question, so James decided he might as well explore the town and see what it had to offer.

The last time he had been there, he had discovered a small book shop during one such walk. It wasn’t as large as it would be in London, of course, but it was well stocked, and he could pick up new reading material, as he had already finished a few times over the ones he had brought with him.

The shop also had the advantage of being outside of the busiest part of town, away from the merchants yelling the praises of their products, the whores trying to beckon closer anything that so much as glanced their way and the company of his crew members falling prey to the allures of both.

Just as he was getting under way, he spied Silver standing a few meters away, seemingly deep in conversation with Carter, one of James’ men that he knew to be as dull as a brick. Yet, Silver seemed fascinated by what he had to say, looking away only long enough to cast a look at James that he couldn’t interpret for the life of him.

With a frown, James forced himself to be on his way.

The shop was just as he remembered, and the woman keeping it was wise and well spoken. Her company and the books kept James busy for almost an hour. He left the shop with two new books in his possession and a list of recommendation from her for when he would get back to the mainland.

However, when he turned the corner of the street, there was Silver again, walking his way and opening a banana. His eyes widened with pleasant surprise, and James could almost believe it was happenstance if he hadn’t known Silver better by that point.

As it was, after a quick look around to make sure no one else was walking down the road, he stalked forward until he was a feet away from the other man.

“Lieutenant James McGraw! What a pleasure to meet you again!” Silver exclaimed, unconcerned with the way James was glaring at him.

“What game are you playing at, Silver?” he growled.

Silver grinned innocently at him and took the time to take a bite out of his banana, before answering. James couldn’t help but blush when he deliberately wrapped his lips around the fruit before biting.

“I have to admit I don’t know what you are referring to, James?” Silver’s voice was just as James remembered it, smooth and confident.

“Following me to my inn, waiting for me in the street, being _here._ ” He accused.

“Everyone knows Misses Smith has the best food on the island, why couldn’t I enjoy it as well? And my, Lieutenant, what a narcissist you are, the world doesn’t revolve around you. I can appreciate the conversation of others.” Silver opened wide eyes at him and returned to chewing on his banana, seemingly without a care in the world.

“That man is an imbecile and we both know it. You wouldn’t give a damn about him except to swindle him out of his money.” James retorted.

Silver grinned around his mouthful, but didn’t answer, content with staring at James.

“What do you want?” hissed James through a clenched jaw.

“Well…” Silver didn’t bother to finish the sentence, eyes sweeping lazily over James’ entire body before looking back at his eyes. James couldn’t misinterpret that even if he tried, even if he wanted to.

A part of him was amazingly flattered that Silver still wanted him, still wanted him badly  enough that he was willing to ask for it again in the middle of the day, standing in a public street, even after James had left him hanging the day before.

The other part of him was ashamed that he was even considering it, and it won out in the end, James spinning around to leave, pushing forward, trying to get away.

“Wait!” Silver called, voice suddenly lacking his carefree tone.

James hated that he froze instantly, but he did, and he half turned to Silver with a guarded expression, still ready to stalk away at a moment’s notice.

“Wait, I’m sorry.” Silver sounded genuinely remorseful, and James allowed himself to turn to face him fully as the younger man took a small step forward, just enough so that they could talk without being easily overheard, but not nearly as close as he had been standing previously.

“I’m sorry, that was wrong of me. You’ve made your feelings on the matter clear. My mouth gets away from me sometimes. I apologize. I would simply want us to be as friends again.” He said, face open.

“We’re not friends.” James found himself blurting out, unbalanced by the sudden shift of Silver’s countenance.

He saw a flash of hurt dance across Silver’s face, and immediately felt bad. Silver didn’t need to be dragged into James’ trust and commitment issues, didn’t need to know that James McGraw had very few friends, and none that he hadn’t known for years.

Before he could retract his statement though, Silver pushed forward with a smile that was at least half sincere.

“As agreeable acquaintances then. Neither of us will be on this island for very long yet, let us enjoy the only stimulating company either of us is likely to find here while we can.”

James should say no. In fact he should have left long ago, told Silver to go fuck himself and walked back to his inn to read in peace.

But he found Silver’s expressive face as fascinating as the day before, and his clever mouth was still a marvel to listen to.

Silver could clearly see James was conflicted, and met his eyes head on, expression open and sincere.

“I promise I won’t make any… _offers_ again.” He swore, sticking his right hand forward.

James looked down on it, surprised, and looked back up with a raised eyebrow. Silver simply looked down at his hand briefly, smiling encouragingly.

James- James caved in, grabbing the hand and shaking it firmly. Silver’s smile stretched out until it seemed to be swallowing his whole face, and James had to look away. Silver didn’t seem to notice, as he bounced on the balls of his feet, skipping to stand beside James’, peeking under his arms at the books he was holding.

“I see the hunt has been successful. What are you reading?” he asked, looking back up at James.

James silently handed him ‘The Adventures of Telemachus’ and ‘The Court of Neptune’. Silver took a good look at them, fingers sliding over the covers before he handed them back to James.

“I’ve never had much of a taste for reading, myself. Perhaps it’s more useful to great men. Great people writing for other great people’s benefits, you know.” Silver offered, as he started to walk leisurely along the street. James followed him easily.

“I find books are essential to gain better understanding of the world around us, and yet I am hardly a great man.” James retorted.

Silver threw him a skeptical look that told James all he needed to know about his opinion of the latter part of the sentence.

“In your world, where everyone think themselves smart and wish to make themselves mysterious to others, so they might be mistaken for important, perhaps. But in my world, you learn a lot more by _looking_ at the people rather than reading about them. No one will never tell the story of the Madam of a brothel, or of the merchants who go out at sea simply to trade goods, or of the drunks that waste away in taverns. Great men will never meet them, and therefore great men will never want to read about them. Yet _I_ must know all about them to make as much of my lot as I can.” Silver’s answered, and once again James had to wonder at the skill he had in shaping words in a powerful tapestry.

What a terrifying politician Silver would have been, had God placed him in the proper family.

“How did you learn to read then? If it was such a useless skill for you to have?” James asked.

“On the contrary, it is a most useful gift, especially in these parts. It makes me more valuable for those who know, and makes it far easier for me to glean information from those who don’t! _Books_ are what seem superfluous to me, not the skill itself.” Silver retorted with a wicked smile.

James should have expected that Silver’s ability came from a cunning sense of self-preservation and not a thirst for pure knowledge.

“How very shrewd of you.” Was all he said, but he grinned at Silver from the corner of his eyes.

“Very few of us common folk can afford to be romantic and idealistic, Lieutenant.” He answered.

“My father was a carpenter. I’m as much from the common folk as you are.” James said quietly, looking away. He didn’t want to be ashamed of his origins, but when he spent most of his days surrounded by other officers who all were born in some level of gentry or another, he usually avoided the subject as well as he could.

Silver, however, wasn’t in a position to judge him for it, and it emboldened James. He looked over just to see Silver’s eyebrow creep up his forehead and he knew Silver suddenly understood a lot more of him than he had before.

“Truly? And you made it to Lieutenant at what, 27? I apologize, James, clearly I have nothing to teach you about elevating yourself to the maximum of your capacity.”

James nodded but couldn’t find anything to add. Silver refused for them to fall silent however, and he inquired as to what James’ plans for the day was. When the older man admitted he didn’t have any, Silver lightened up and dragged him to the main square where, according to him, the tastiest food and the most ridiculous men could be found, which to him, was the best possible combination for enjoyment.

“Was that where you were yesterday before you needed to run away for you skin?” James inquired wryly as he followed the younger man along the streets.

“Potentially?” answered Silver with an impish grin over his shoulder, “I will behave myself today however. It would be a lot less fun experience without a respectable man to speak on my behalf!”

“I didn’t speak on your behalf, I simply misdirected them. Anyone trying to argue for your innocence would be fighting a losing battle.” James replied, but harshness of his words was ruined as an amused grin tugged the corner of his lips.

Silver shot him a mock affronted look, complete with the hand pressed to his chest in outrage, but he didn’t bother trying to dispute the fact.

They settled themselves at a table in the corner of the square, where they could see all that was going on while being fairly discreet themselves.

Silver immediately launched himself into speculation about the people passing through the square, trying to guess their history, what could possibly bring them to this town, what they yearned for in the future.

James listened with an amused ear, interrupting Silver whenever he talked about someone James knew and could offer additional knowledge on. Otherwise, he let Silver talk, remembering what the man had said earlier about learning invaluable information by observing people. Silver could notice minute details, a subtle accent or a particular color of fabric and draw conclusions about the person that astounded James. Obviously, most presumptions he couldn’t validate, but whenever one of his crewmate passed the square, Silver’s allegations were generally stunningly close to the truth.

As time went by, James looked less and less at the square, and more and more at his companion. Silver was so immersed into his art that he didn’t even notice James staring at him.

James had never been the best at dealing with people. He could give them orders, he could lead them. He could talk at them and sound smart and convincing. He was a great strategist. Understanding persons, individuals, connecting easily with them, on the other hand? _That_ was more often than not out of his reach. The way Silver seemed to slip into all their minds with ease was foreign to him.

In the end, Silver was snapped out of his razor sharp focus by the lady of the tavern coming to ask whether they wanted to order anything else.

Silver blinked absently for a few seconds, as if coming back to his own body was disorienting for him, but he recovered quickly, and he aimed his most charming smile at the lady, politely asking for two plates of food and some ale.

James felt his gut twist with jealousy as the lady blushed and smiled sweetly back at Silver, who didn’t take his eyes off her. James had no reason to feel like this. He was the one to turn Silver down, twice. Of course the man was perfectly in the right in setting his sight one someone else, and the young woman was undeniably pretty, even if at the moment James felt that no one could truly shine in a room where Silver was smiling and speaking.

God give him strength.

However, as soon as she was gone, Silver turned back toward James with a grin.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get carried away like that, you must have gotten tired of hearing the sound of my voice.” He apologized, leaning back in his chair.

James thought it would take a lot more than one afternoon for him to pierce the mysteries of Silver’s gift with words, and that until then, he would be more than happy to listen to the man talk himself hoarse.

He refrained for saying any of that, opting to shrug instead.

“It’s always good to gain better understanding of the places where we go. England can’t be expected to remain in control of the West Indies if its officers know nothing of the people living there.” He told Silver, trying to keep his tone even.

“Everything in service of Queen and Country, then.” Silver quipped, smirking as he cast a look at the square.

The sun was setting, and the lasts merchants were packing up. The people were walking by without stopping now, either going back home, to a tavern, or to the brothel. James had been frankly impressed by the number of his crew mates he had spied slipping in or out of whore houses. He couldn’t grasp why someone would be so desperate for sex that they would visit such an establishment, let alone multiple times a day like a few of them had.

“Where are you going afterward?” James asked, opening a conversation for the first time.

Silver threw him a careful look. Both he and James had avoided talking about the fact that from the next day, they would probably never see each other again.

If Silver was anything like him, James thought, it was probably out of a refusal to contemplate why that thought pained him after only a day of acquaintance.

“We’re going back up to the continent, to sale the goods up there.” Silver answered.

James nodded, hands twirling a butter knife.

“You?” Silver prodded.

“We’re going down to Nassau to do some reconnaissance and talk to the governor, deliver the weapons we’re carrying, then we’re going back to England.” James answered quickly.

“Such a long travel for so little.” Silver remarked.

James could only shrug. They would be staying in Nassau for a little while, definitely longer than they had been in Port-Royal, but at the end they would have spent a lot more time on the sea than on land. One didn’t sign up for the Navy if they couldn’t deal with being on water.

The woman came back with their food, leaning a little bit further than necessary as she smiled at Silver. The man answered in spades, thanking her profusely. She went away blushing again, and this time, James couldn’t resist raising an eyebrow at Silver.

The other man simply smirked at him before attacking his food, and James rolled his eyes and did the same.

Despite his attention toward the lady of the tavern, Silver left the establishment with James. James supposed there was always time to come back later after they had gone their separate ways.

They walked idly in the streets, silent for once, Silver apparently too full and satisfied to babble away, and James too focused on the way their arms would brush against each other every few steps.

Suddenly, Silver stumbled on an uneven cobblestone, and James grabbed his arm out of shear reflex. He tugged Silver back up, helping him balance himself again.

“Thank you, James.” Silver said, with a breathy laugh that faded out in the breeze as their eyes met again.

Their faces were merely a foot apart, too close, far too close. James still hadn’t let go of Silver’s arm. He should let go. He needed to let go _now_.

Silver was suddenly unsure, eyes dancing over James’ face, looking for something, James didn’t know what. He only knew uncertainty was not a good look on Silver.

“James?” Silver’s voice was confused and hopeful and careful and James couldn’t understand it, couldn’t understand any of it.

 

A loud bellowing laugh shredded the bubble of intimate quiet that had shrouded them from the rest of the world. They jerked apart, James finally letting go of Silver.

From a small street close to them came a half-dozen men, most of them obviously quite drunk. James was about to shake of the weird feeling that pushed on his shoulders and resume walking when the men passed under a neighbouring lantern, and he felt his stomach drop.

They were the same men that had been running after Silver the day before.

 

“Well if it isn’t the fucker that robbed us.” The leader growled, stalking forward. The other men spread out, as if James or Silver were going to run.

Well, Silver might, but it definitely wasn’t James’ style. He widened his stance as the men crowded them against one side of the street, his eyes not leaving the leader of the group.

“And would you look at that, it’s the English asshole who got us lost yesterday. What did he pay you for your services? Did he give you our money? Or did he get on his knees to suck you cock like the tramp he is?” The man growled with a cruel smile.

From the corner of his eyes, James saw Silver flinch ever so slightly, and suddenly, all the frustrations of the past day that were crawling under his skin surged and he jumped forward, punching the man nearest to him on the jaw hard enough to throw him on the ground.

All at once, three other guys were on him. James knew that, were they all sober, it would have ended quickly in their favor, but the three of them ranged from tipsy to barely holding themselves up, and James knew how to throw a good punch.

He may also have kicked one of them in the balls. A three against one fight allowed him to play dirty.

He was just elbowing the last one of the goons in the gut when a loud yelp brought him short.

Silver had obviously tried to do his part in the fight, one of the other guys lying on the ground holding his throat, but the last one was holding him pinned to the wall, with a knife to his throat.

James felt fear wash over him, and he took a step forward instinctively.

“Stop! One more step and he’s dead!” The thin man with the knife screamed shrilly at him. James froze. Silver sent him a distressed look from the corner of his eye.

James felt rage course through his veins as the man forced him into inaction by threatening Silver’s life. He wanted to punch him until his skin split open. He wanted him to _bleed_. James heard a few of the other men slowly get to their feet, and he clenched his fists. He knew what was coming. He would have to let them do as they please lest Silver suffer the consequences.

“Let’s all take a deep breathe, here, okay?”

James’ eyes jumped back up to Silver’s, but the man wasn’t looking at him anymore, but rather at his assailant. The thin man pressed forward with a growl, and Silver hissed when the knife drew blood from his throat.

“No, no, no, please, let’s all be rational about this. See, I admit, what I did to you was very wrong. I shouldn’t have taken your money like that, but the thing is, I don’t have your money with me at the moment, and I assure you, this fine gentleman over there had nothing to do with the whole scheme. Our presence here was absolutely happenstance.” Silver spoke in a smooth and calm voice. James could see a few of the men waver, unsure what to do with someone who appeared so controlled an inch away from death. The thin man, however, was not swayed.

“Why shouldn’t I just make sure you know never to cross us again?” He hissed. James felt his pulse jump and his blood roar as the man twisted the knife ever so slightly.

“Of course, slicing my throat would be a perfectly natural answer to a few lost pieces of eight. And you are nothing but a reasonable man. The thing is, that gentleman over there? That’s Lieutenant James McGraw, of the Navy. You know the big ship in the harbor? Well it’s due to leave tomorrow. Now what do you think the Navy would say if one of its officers were to not come back, or to come back telling them of the murder he witnessed the day before? By all mean, let’s sacrifice my life and your freedom for nothing more than pocket money, what do you say? Or you could let both of go, unharmed. We would be out of your hair forever, and we could all put this ordeal behind us, like it ought to be.”

 By the end of his speech, all the men except the one still holding Silver had taken several steps away from James. The thin man sneered as he looked James up and down several time, sizing him up, until at last he relented with a spiteful string of curses, moving away from Silver who kept his back on the wall. With a tilt of the leader’s head, all the men quickly disappeared.

James took three long strides to Silver, grabbing his chin and delicately moving his head to the side so he could see the cut on his throat. It was shallow and short, and had already stopped bleeding. James let out a sigh of relief.

“So, will I live?” Silver asked, head still tilted to the side, and James stared, transfixed, as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, begging to be tasted.

Slowly, softly, he pushed Silver’s face so the man was facing him again. Silver went easily, like he had simply been waiting for James to tell him where this was heading.

They stared at each other, the air becoming so thick James could barely breathe. His hand fell from Silver’s cheek to his chest, where he could feel Silver’s heartbeat thunder under his palm.

Silver opened his mouth, but for once, words escaped him. There was nothing he wanted to say at the moment than he hadn’t sworn he wouldn’t utter anymore.

With a painful start, James realised that this was it. After tonight, he wouldn’t even hear Silver’s voice again. This clever, clever man that could talk a drunk man out of slicing his throat would be lost to him forever.

Suddenly, it was too much. He couldn’t let go of Silver, not like this, not- not like this.

He needed- he needed- He _needed._

With a growl he lunged forward, pushing his lips against Silver’s. Their teeth knocked together, and their noses got in the way, but it didn’t matter because Silver groaned and grabbed two fistfuls of James shirt, dragging him flush with him.

It didn’t matter because James could finally sink his fingers through Silver’s curls. It didn’t matter, because all that mattered was Silver’s soft lips and clever, clever tongue.

When they broke apart, gasping for breath, Silver’s fingers tightened their hold on Flint’s shirt, fearful James would leave again.

“James?” he asked, voice cautious, and James couldn’t help but kiss him again, quick and dirty.

“Not here.” James didn’t recognize his own voice, gravelly and deep, but Silver shivered in appreciation against him.

“My inn’s close. It’s small and no one will care, I swear.” Silver offered, voice just this side of desperate.

James was past caring at this point. He needed this. He needed Silver, he needed to feel good for a night.

“Go.” He whispered, taking a step back. The air felt painfully cold against his chest were Silver’s heat had been seeping through his shirt, inflaming his skin.

Silver pushed himself off the wall and walked away with unsteady but determined steps. James fell in steps with him, very cautiously not touching Silver, knowing they might not make it to the inn if he did.

The place was indeed small, at the edge of town, and looked mostly empty. Even the keeper was asleep at his desk, not stirring as Silver and James walked to the stairs.

James felt the click of Silver’s door like a punch to the stomach.

They stared at each other for a few second before Silver raised a tentative hand to James’ chest, resting it gently on top of his pectoral. With equal care, James pressed a hand to Silver’s waist, slowly drawing the man to him.

Just as their chests touched, Silver raised his hand to cup the back of James’ neck, undoing his hair-tie. James hair fell down, Silver’s eyes drawn to it as he caught a few strands and wrapped them around his fingers gently.

“God, I thought I’d go crazy thinking about this, you being so kept together, so clean, so fucking _proper._ Fuck, James, I just want to mess you all up.” He whispered urgently, fingers carding through his hair over and over again. His breathe brushed against James’ mouth, making him shiver

It was too much. James needed Silver to shut up, lest he vibrates out of his skin. He caught his lips again, pushing his tongue in Silver’s mouth. The young man moaned and melted against James, his body pliant and willing and delicious.

It was too much.

James needed more.

 

He wrapped his arms around Silver’s waist, pulling him flush against himself. He groaned when Silver’s hardening cock pressed his own, forcefully keeping his hips still, trying to regain some measure of control.

Silver had other plan, unsurprisingly. He started moving backward until he spun them around and pushed James down on the bed. James fell back as Silver climbed after him, straddling his hips with more flourish than strictly necessary, shimmying against James’ groin for a second to settle himself. James had a vivid flashback of his fantasies from the night before.

Reality felt impossibly better. Silver laid down on top of him to kiss him, nipping at his jaw on the way and licking messily at the corner of James’ mouth to be granted access.

James tugged Silver’s shirt out of his pants and slid a hand up under it in retaliation. He barely had time to appreciate how his muscles shifted under his skin before Silver wrenched himself away, sitting back up on his heels with a huff.

James’ protests died on his lips when he realised Silver was tugging his shirt over his head. He stayed frozen for a second, mesmerized by the expanse of unexplored tan skin suddenly on display, suddenly unsure how to proceed. Only Silver tugging on his own shirt with a pointed “James.” brought him back to his senses, and he tried to get rid of his clothes as quickly as possible. With Silver’s help, they were quickly cast aside.

Silver pressed his hands around the curve of his ribs, still sitting on his heels, staring at James like a starved man.

“God damnit, James, look at you. I swear I’m going to give you the night of your life, just like I fucking promised. You look like one of the gods from your stories, you know that?” He rasped, his hands creeping up to rub against James’ nipples.

“Silver.” James gasped, grabbing the man’s thighs.

“Yeah, that’s it James. You wanna fly with me, don’t you? Of course you do, look at you. When’s the last time someone touched you properly?” Silver asked with a little twist of his hips that got them both gasping.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” growled James. Silver’s voice was sweet torture, making everything sharper, realler, until it was almost painful, until James couldn’t bare it.

“Why don’t you make me, James?” Silver teased with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

James grabbed his neck and dragged Silver in a biting kiss. Just as Silver moaned, he flipped them over, pressing Silver’s back to the mattress with a satisfied smirk.

Silver immediately wrapped his legs around James’ hips and moaned. James pulled himself away from Silver’s mouth to attack his neck, sucking and biting at Silver’s throat. Silver threw his head back, arching off the bed to push against James’ mouth.

James shifted even closer and groaned with Silver when their cocks rubbed against each other the friction maddening in its insufficiency. James wasn’t able to restrain himself from rutting roughly against Silver again until he wrenched himself away.

Silver’s desperate whine was intoxicating.

“Everything, off. Now.” He ordered. Silver’s mouth fell open for a second, than he was scrambling to remove his breaches and boots all at the same time. James did the same, his eyes never leaving Silver as the younger man fought with his clothes. Every inch of skin exposed was a gift. James’ eyes admired the way his skin went from tanned to milky white under the waistband of his pants, the way it contrasted delightfully with the dark hair that surrounded Silver’s cock.

He felt a hunger like none he had felt before when he looked at Silver’s cock, already fully hard and purpling at the tip.

At last however, he was able to drag Silver back under him, gloriously, deliciously naked. The first time he laid himself over Silver, the overwhelming sensations almost killed him. He caught Silver’s mouth again, swallowing the little moans that would punch out of the young man’s mouth every time their cocks would touch.

James pushed a hand between them, grabbing their cocks, and suddenly understood why Silver kept talking about flying. He gasped, unable to gather the coordination necessary to keep kissing Silver. Instead he started pressing his lips softly all over his face, his jaw, his eyelids, his nose. Silver was whispering an endless litany of ‘James’, like it was the only word that he remembered. His body kept shifting and twitching, chasing after James’ like he was going mad with it.

James felt his climax coming, felt it build in his belly, tugging from his cock and radiating all over his body. He pressed down against Silver harder, needing to be impossibly closer. He pushed his face against the crook of Silver’s neck, panting harshly. Silver’s hips were tight like a vice around his waist, his fingers clawing at his back like James was still too far, like he might never be close enough.

Determined to give Silver what he needed first, James let go of his own cock to focus on the young man’s. He tightened his hold, twisting his strokes, going faster and faster.

Silver came with a gasp that faded into a whine as he arched against James. The feeling of his semen against his belly and his own cock was too much for James and he came with a sob against Silver’s neck after rutting uncontrollably against his thigh.

He barely had the wherewithal to twist to the side so he wouldn’t crush Silver before he stopped moving, exhausted and satisfied down to his very bones. Silver stayed on his back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to get his respiration back under control. Their hands found each other, fingers intertwining. James’ back suddenly seemed terribly cold in the warm Caribbean air, like everything might as well be frozen next to Silver’s heat.

“Do you need to leave?” James had honestly no idea how long at passed before Silver spoke, bliss making him fade in and out of consciousness without ever truly sleeping.

“I’ll need to leave at dawn.” He answered, words slurring together.

“But you can sleep here for now?” Silver seemed oddly vulnerable, and James stretched out a hand to rest on his chest.

“Yes, I can stay for now.”

Silver didn’t answer, simply turning on his side so he was facing James, tucking himself under his jaw, throwing a leg over James’.

James felt like there was a million things he wanted to say, but none would come to his tongue. In the end, he exhaled, and let sleep take him.

The morning after, untangling himself from Silver was a challenge like he had never faced before, both because in his sleep the young man had grabbed him and now refused to let go, and because James wanted nothing more than to let him do just that.

Even the cool air of the sea, hours later, couldn’t blow away the phantom warmth of Silver’s touch that marred James’ skin like invisible scars.

 


	2. John

John was done with this. He was done with working under incompetent captains for lousy wages that forced him to board one ship after the other. He was done with spending all his days at sea, with more time at sea as his only prospect. He was done with the few meager days a month on land he would get, when his captains had to refill the supplies. He was done with pathetically looking for a flash of ginger hair anytime a Navy ship was in the harbor, even after all these years.

God he was so done with it all.

 

He was on the deck when the lookout called the dreaded shout.

“PIRATES!”

Everyone on board froze, stunned into stupidity for a second. The captain lowered his looking glass slowly.

Would they surrender peacefully, or would they fight? John stared at the man, praying he wouldn’t try to be brave, praying he wouldn’t be that stupid.

“To your posts!” bellowed the Captain at last, and everyone sprang into action, running to the cannons and to arm themselves.

It was bound to happen at some point. Over the ten years Silver had been sailing merchant ships now, he only had the misfortune of meeting pirate ships a few times. Every other captain had been sensible enough to surrender.

What kind of idiot would risk his life and the lives of everyone on the ship for the nearly worthless cargo they were ferrying at the moment?

Fuck this.

He wasn’t risking his life for this wreck of a ship, for this wreck of a captain.

With a roll of his eyes, he turned around, and in the chaos of the preparation for battle, slipped down into the bowels of the ship. He slammed into the door of the armory, before quickly whirling back, barricading the door behind him.

It was only when he turned around that he noticed the cook was also in the room.

“What are you doing?” the cook asked, voice almost shrill.

“Uh, sorry.” Silver answered, feeling anything but, moving away from the door.

“Why aren’t you on deck with the crew?” the cook demanded, getting back on his feet.

“I think the better question is, why aren’t they all down here with us? You can get killed up there.” He quipped, trying to look out a hole in the floor board to learn what was going on over them.

“Oh, so you’re a coward then?” the cook spit out. Silver wanted to laugh.

“You too?” he answered with a grin. Silver wasn’t ashamed of being a coward, in as much as he called it looking out for himself. It had kept him alive for years now. If the man thought he’d be stupid to give up his safe position for such a half-assed insult, he would be sorely disappointed.

“I’m not a coward, I’m a cook. I’ve no quarters to man. What do you think the captain will do when he finds out you’ve abandoned yours?” the cook tried to goad John into leaving.

“Well if he’s dead and I’m alive, I like my chances.” Silver answered, dismissing the man for an idiot but a harmless one for him.

“Do you know what that is up there? That ships flies the banner of Captain Flint!” he hissed, sweat beading on his forehead.

Silver winced as another cannon shot shook the cull of the ship, mind whirring into action. Captain Flint, fuck him. Of all the pirates to board his ship, of all the pirates for his captain to choose to fight, it had to be that one. Fuck, fuck.

Calm down, Silver. There’s always a way out. Even men like Flint can be reasoned with. Probably.

“Isn’t this your problem too?” he asked, desperately fishing for a life line.

“Good cooks are in short supply, even for criminals. But you, cowering below decks, dodging the fight? They’ll gut you for sport.” The cook retorted with cruel satisfaction.

Silver swallowed with difficulty, eyes jumping everywhere. Fuck, it was either dying fighting the pirates or dying here looking for a way out.

John Silver was not going out the stupid way.

Another cannon shot threw them both to the floor, a little bundle of leather falling from the cook’s pocket, rolling between them. Before Silver could pick it up, the man grabbed it and scrambled to his feet.

“What is that?” Silver asked. Anything guarded this desperately had to be valuable somehow. No one willing to serve as a _cook_ on a ship had a family he cared about enough to protect images or letters so vehemently. Whatever the cook was clutching, it was something he could trade for his life.

“That’s nothing!” he tried to cover, far too quickly to afford himself any kind of credibility.

“That doesn’t seem like nothing.” Silver rose to his feet too, a grin slowly stretching his mouth again.

He might just make out of this shitstorm.

“But maybe when Captain Flint gets here, we can let him decide.” He added, walked slowly toward the cook.

“You wouldn’t want to do that.” The cook protested, walking back as Silver advanced toward him.

“No? Why not?” Silver asked, with a cocky tilt of his head.

The cook pulled a sword out of a nearby barrel, pointing it at Silver.

“Oh.” Silver remarked. One of these days, his mouth would get him in serious trouble.

Thankfully, he thought as the cook started swinging the sword around, this day wouldn’t be it. At least not right away. Silver wasn’t much of a fighter, but the cook was even less so, and where his work on the ship had kept Silver in pretty good shape, the cook quickly started to tire and falter.

Silver was finally able to grab the sword out of the cook’s hand and cut him down with it. Taking a step back, breathing heavily, he shook his head a few times to try to scramble his thoughts back into some kind of order.

He took a deep breath and moved back toward the cook’s body, placing the sword in his hand as if the wound had been self-inflicted, and he grabbed the pouch the cook had been ready to defend with his life.

Not a moment too soon it seemed, as he started to hear people moving outside the door. It was only a matter of time before Flint’s men manag-

The door flew out of its hinges with a deafening bang, and Silver stumbled back a few paces. A short bald, mustached man came through with a few other pirates, eyes going to the dead man on the floor, before pointing a pistol at Silver’s chest.

John raised his hands, swallowing one last time, praying for his voice to be even.

“Hello.” The word came out raspy but calm.  John let his eyes go to the cook for a second before he went on. “He couldn’t handle the thought of what you might do to him.” He offered, knowing that such things sometimes happen. People preferring to end their lives rather than being tortured by pirates. And they called John a coward.

“I, on the other hand,” John said, opening wide friendly eyes and taking a step forward, “would very much like to join your crew.”

After all, the life of a pirate couldn’t be any more miserable than on a merchant’s ship. The bald man squinted skeptically, raising the gun slightly. John swallowed, thinking, thinking, _thinking-_

_Good cooks are in short supply, even for criminals._

“My name is John Silver. And I happen to be a very good cook.” He offered, with another wide, friendly smile.

The man scoffed, but brought him on deck, where a man with truly terrifying scars running over his face was giving Silver’s old crew a speech about throwing aside their loyalties to their old captain, and joining the pirates. John had to admit he had a certain talent, even if his voice and countenance lacked some gravitas to make him a truly great speaker. The scars definitely helped, though.

John didn’t have much time to enjoy the display before the short bald man passed him off to a mountain of a man apparently called Billy, with instructions to bring him to a Randall.

Randall ended up being a dimwitted man in charge of the cooking. After rambling a bit about service schedule and the ethics of cooking aboard a pirate ship, Billy was off, but not without an ominous warning about Silver’s standing on the boat.

“We like Randall. You? We’ll see.”

John hadn’t expected a pirate crew to be warm and fuzzy, but that was a whole another level. Nevertheless, Randall’s less than stellar company afforded him all the liberty and privacy he needed to finally see what price he had nabbed from the defunct cook.

Whatever information that piece of paper held, it was worth a life.

 

OOOOOO

 

John had to admit, the pirates’ rite of initiation was definitely enjoyable, and the ladies were very talented. Nevertheless, he was now an evening shorter and he still had no idea where the third log book was. He got up with a groan, and rolled to his feet to slip his clothes back on again.

Until he felt like a gallon of ice water had been dumped on his head.

The leather pouch was missing. It wasn’t with his pants, nor with any of the rest of his clothes. He scrambled up, shaking everything, trying to pry it loose from whichever corner it must have rolled in. Because if it hasn’t and someone else had taken it-

He heard someone move in the room and spun back around. It was one of the whores, the one that had brought him back to bed after he had tried to get the pouch last night. She held it up with a small smile, and Silver couldn’t help but stare at her, dumbfounded, dread washing over him as she held his future in her hand.

“A whore for every finger in your hand, but your eyes kept drifting to this.” She said.

 

OOOOOO

 

Max was a smart woman and an invaluable asset. Thanks to her, John now knew the magnitude of what he had. Nothing less than the key to the _Urca de Lima,_ and a way for him to get a quick and plentiful bounty from it.

After seeing her back to her brothel and hearing with an impatient ear her reassurances, Silver took his leave with the page, going back to the beach. He didn’t have any money to buy himself a room in Nassau as he would have wished, and could simply hope that most of the others had themselves the means of securing accommodation on the island.

He slept fitfully that night, dreams plagued both by the dread of being discovered, and by the promises of endless riches.

The next afternoon, the whole crew was summoned back to the ship. Apparently, there was to be a vote to depose Captain Flint in favor of the scarred man from the day before.

John had to say, the ideas that the captaincy would be subject to the approval of the crew, and that _Captain Flint,_ terror of the sea, would be in any position to be threatened, both rung weirdly in his ear. Nevertheless, a change in regime could be good for him, a chance to worm his way into the new captain’s good graces while he was still gaining his footing.

He joined the crew as they assembled on the deck, waiting for Flint to make his appearance. The other man, Singleton – and Captain Singleton just didn’t inspire the same dread as _Captain Flint,_ did it- was already there, rising the tempers. Once again, John had to admit he had potential, but he wasn’t any man John would be sad to leave in his dust once he had his prize.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the crew, and John raised his eyes to the deck to see the infamous Flint finally appear, descending the steps slowly.

He turned to cast his eyes over all of them, and he faced John briefly, just for a second, but that was enough for John to feel like he had been punched in the gut.

He remembered that face. He remembered those bright eyes and the thick auburn hair and the beard that had felt so delicious rubbing against his skin.

Lieutenant James McGraw.

John was frozen, staring at the man he had known years ago, however briefly. How does a bright, good man serving in the Navy come to be the scourge of the sea, the legendary pirate captain, the monster that haunted the dream of all sailors?

John stared slaw jacked as James-Flint, stood solid and proud in under the eyes of the crew, holding up the log book from which John’s page was torn.

“I’m sorry. For the short hauls. For the trouble I’ve caused. But most importantly for the disregard it seems I’ve shown you. The most important element of a healthy ship is trust. Trust between men. Trust between captain and crew. Without it, a ship is doomed. For the past few months, you and I have been on the hunt of a prize so rich, it could upset the nature of our world. And for that reason, I felt it necessary to keep it secret. I didn’t trust you. And that was my mistake.”

His voice was the same. Still mesmerizing, still hooking you and pulling you toward him, still commanding respect. John had been weak for James’ voice since the first time he had heard it, and here, now, it seemed even more powerful. He could see the men, coarse cynical seafaring men swayed by it, swayed by the promises it held, swayed by the impossible will and power pulsing from Flint. John knew too many tricks, had talked his way out of too many tight spots to be truly entranced by it, but he admired the mastery. If this was the man Singleton faced, the other man stood no chance.

There was a restlessness coiling the muscles under James’ coat, plaguing his steps, hardening his eyes. He looked like he was restraining himself, restraining _something_ with every breath.

John had seen the germ of the man standing in front of him and yet he couldn’t truly believe his eyes. He listened as James promised the treasures of the New World to his crew. He fought to take a step back as the Captain started talking about betrayal, fear gripping his throat. Would James have mercy on him? Would he even recognize him after all these years?

Would _Captain Flint_ even know the man James had taken to bed?

James spun back around and accused Singleton of the crime, and John could breathe again. He relaxed back into the shadow as drama unfolded between Singleton, Flint and the bald man he had been informed was called Gates.

He stared in disbelief as swords were drawn, the matter to be settled through a fight to the death. Was this truly how it was to be done? Surely there would be a trial, some kind of investigation? John could manoeuvre his way out of a trial. Swords, not so much.

It seemed not.

The fight was brutal. John forgot all about his plans for Singleton to become captain with the first slash to rip through James’ shirt. James simply had to win. John had seen him take three men down with nothing but his fists, and that was even before he became a pirate.

Suddenly Singleton had a sword hanging over James’ throat, stopped only by James holding it away with his bare hands, the blade cutting through his fingers, blood streaming down on his face. John waited, petrified.

 He barely muffled a cheer when James managed to take the upper hand again.

Until James started caving Singleton’s skull in with his bare hands, until he stopped moving, after he stopped moving.

John stared in horror as Flint stood up slowly, shaking like an enraged dog. He had blood all over his face like he had torn into Singleton with his teeth rather than his fists. He looked every bit like the monster of the stories.

What had happened to James? What could have possibly happened to the man John had met years ago?

He watched James hand Billy a piece of paper. A piece of paper John knew not to be the missing page, the schedule he still had in his jacket.

He watched James justify the death of Simpleton with a lie. He watched him shout at the crew, he watched them shout back in feverish fervor.

John watched, tetanized, as James left the deck victorious, crowned in bright sunlight and bathed in blood.

 

John stood on the deck as the crew started moving, some of them eager to get back to the mainland to celebrate their new prospects, most just walking around, trying to shake off the sudden energy.

He could go through with his plan, sell the plan to whoever Max had in mind, and disappear with his prize. He might get away with it.

But James was too smart. And Flint was a hunter that wouldn’t stop until he had caught his prey. And both of them knew what kind of tricky little shit John could be.

Did Silver really want to tempt faith and set himself against Flint?

Did he want to play against James McGraw, one of the few people he had ever truly appreciated?

 

Max wouldn’t be pleased, but John was sure he could make it up to her after they had reached the Urca.

With a fortifying breath, he climbed up the stairs, walking to the Captain’s cabin. He knocked with more assurance than he felt, and Billy was the one to open the door, staring at him in surprise, as if wondering what kind of idiot would volunteer to face the captain in his present state.

“What do you want?” he asked, frowning at him.

“I have something I think you’ll want to know about.” He said, loud enough to be heard inside as well.

“Who is this?” James’s coarse voice asked. Billy frowned at John again before answering over his shoulder.

“It’s the new cook.”

“From the last ship we attacked?” James asked, and John heard someone shift inside the cabin.

Gates answered something that John couldn’t quite make out, and John started feeling decidedly uneasy.

“Let him in.” Flint called out, and Billy stepped aside with one last skeptical look at John.

John brushed past him, and watched James’s back as the man walked toward the windows of the cabin to seat himself at his desk.

He kept silent until James finally look up at him. John could see the moment the man recognized him. His eyes widened for a split second before he frowned threateningly, fists clenching.

“What do you want?” James asked, voice even despite his thunderous expression.

“I only want to help you in pretending you didn’t just lie to your whole crew.” John offered with a small smile and a cocked eyebrow. He was taking a risky gamble, saying this in front of Gate and Billy, but both of them had confirmed James’s allegations despite seeing the false piece of paper with their own eyes. Furthermore, he didn’t know if he ever would get the chance to talk to James alone.

Gates took a step forward, but James held up a hand to stop him.

“And how would you do that?” James asked, eyes sharp on John’s face.

John looked around the room for effect, before smiling back at James.

“Well, I know where you can find the page you’re looking for.” John offered with a grin.

James pushed himself to his feet, the chair scrapping loudly behind him.

“ _You_ stole it?” James accused, growling, leaning forward.

John forced himself to stay still, spreading his hands, his eyes going wide and innocent. James was unaffected, unimpressed, but Billy and Gates relaxed a fraction.

“Of course not! But one my old crew mate did. I found him while you were boarding my old ship. He was trying to hide his prize when I interrupted him, and he killed himself in desperation. Now that I know what he took from you, I can’t say I blame him. Ask Mr. Gates, he found the both of us.” Silver spoke calmly and only to James. He only had to convince him, and he would be fine.

James shot a curt look at Gates, and the short man confirmed the story with a nod. Flint’s gaze went back to John, and once again the sheer intensity of his gaze froze the air in John’s throat.

“Then what?” James demanded.

“Then I took the prize from him.” John said, shrugging.

“You mean you’ve had the page ever since you got on this ship, and you’re only divulging it _now_?” James growled.

John smiled thinly again.

“Well, I didn’t know what it was, how could I? I’m a simple cook. I only learned of its importance just now, along with the rest of the crew. And of course, my first action was then to come to you.” John knew his voice sounded sincere and reasonable. And yet James was still looking seconds away from jumping for his throat.

“Where is it now?” James asked, at the end of his patience.

Silver smiled charmingly once more, and reached inside his jacket for the leather pouch. With a little flourish and a bright smile, he took it out and stretched his arm to James. The captain pounced forward, grabbing it from John, and opening it quickly. His eyes scanned over the page, and some of his tension bled out when he realized it was indeed the proper page. He handed it to Gates who had come nearer.

“It appears we will have our prize after all. Mr. Gates, take Billy and start making plans for what we will need.” James ordered.

Gates seemed to hesitate, looking between John and Flint.

“Me and-“  James started, before pausing for a moment, and John realised he didn’t want Gates or Billy to know they had met before, and therefore couldn’t admit he knew John’s name.

“John Silver.” John offered with a smile.

“Mr. Silver and I need to talk.” James finished. When Gates still hesitated, probably fearing for John’s life, James glared at him and added “Alone.”

Gates wouldn’t disobey such an order and he left with Billy in tow.

As soon as the door closed behind them, James stalked to John, grabbing his throat and spinning them around to pin John against the desk. John’s eyes popped out, and he had to reach a hand behind to the desk to steady himself.

That wasn’t really something he was into, but he could definitely work with this, he thought, as the heat from James’ hand started to radiate.

“What kind of fucking game do you think you’re playing?” James hissed, tightening his hold on John’s throat for a second.

John stared at James for a second, dumbfounded.

“Now, let’s-” he started, but James interrupted him by shaking his roughly.

“Answer me!” he demanded.

“I assure you, I am not playing any game with you.” John stared deep into James’ eyes, trying to convince him, to show him he was genuine for one of the rare times in his life.

“Spare me your fucking bullshit. You knew exactly what the schedule was.” James accused.

Silver felt his jaw drop, and he shook his head, curls flying around.

“No, I-” he tried, but James stopped him again.

“I know you were here yesterday night. I know you found the log book, and I know you read it. And I _know_ you’re too fucking clever not to understand what was going on. Now, one last time, what game do you think you’re fucking playing?” James was growling by now, and it was doing things to John that shouldn’t happen with someone threatening to choke him, no matter how attractive the person. The blood soaked shirt really _should_ be a turn off too.

“Alright, yes, I knew what the page meant. But I assure you, I am not playing any games with you.” John tried to pacify him, spreading his hands slowly.

“Then why didn’t you come to find me right away? Why just now?” Flint’s anger seemed to seep out of him slowly, and John dared a grin.

“Well, James-”

James slammed him against the desk with a growl.

“Don’t call me that!” He hissed, enraged.

“What?” Gasped John, breathing through the sting of his back.

“My name is Flint, and _you_ will call me _Captain._ And if you ever tell another soul that we met before, and of who I was when we did, I will nail you to the mast through your stomach. Am I making myself clear?” Jam- Flint asked.

John nodded frantically, eyes wide. This was not going the way he had wanted or expected it to.

“Crystal!” he answered. Never let it be said that John Silver couldn’t adapt.

“Now tell me.” Flint asked, finally releasing John to pace up and down the cabin.

“Well, _Captain,_ up until an hour ago, I wasn’t aware I might have more affinities with you than I previously believed.” He said, deciding honesty might be the best policy for the moment.

“So you decided to give me the key to secure the biggest prize any pirate has every seized because we fucked once upon a time?” Flint summarise with obvious disbelief.

John almost answered that it was more about being open to them fucking again in the near future, but elected to take a more subtle route to that end.

“Well, that and the fact that I would quite like a part of that gold myself.” Silver quipped with a smile.

“Of course you would.” Flint sneered. “And pray tell me, what the fuck were you going to do with that schedule before you decided you’d get a better profit by sticking with me?” Flint asked.

Silver swallowed. Flint would never believe he didn’t already have of plan for the schedule.

“I might have been planning to sell it to whomever offered me the most for it.” He answered, eyeing Flint cautiously.

“And have you told anyone about it, in order to complete that transaction?” Flint’s voice dipped dangerously low, and Silver started looking around for means of escape. With Flint blocking the path to the door, his only option was jumping through the window and into the water.

Definitely a last case scenario.

Flint took the long silence as the admission it was, and with a muffled shouted stalked up to Silver’s face again.

“You fucking weasel! Now I’m going to have to fight against other pirates on top of whatever bullshit is defending the fucking ship!” he roared.

Silver flinched, but opened his mouth to try and reason with Flint. The man didn’t give him the chance.

“I should kill you now, make sure you don’t cause me anymore problems.” Flint growled, hand moving toward a knife on his desk.

“Woooowowo there, not so fast. For the moment, only my associate knows of the page and what’s on it. If I were to come to them, unharmed, I could appease them into silence. If I don’t come back, however, they will probably talk and all of Nassau will know about the Urca by tomorrow.” He argued, words tumbling one after the other as he bargained for his life. For just a second, he saw an impressed light spark through Flint’s eyes, and he was reminded of James, who had been so appreciative of his way with words.

Soon enough, however it was snuffed out, and Flint was nothing but tightly controlled rage.

“So what?” he asked.

“So, you let me go talk to them. Alone. And they will know, should I disappear one day, that you were the one to do it, and that they will not receive payment. And they will talk.” Silver said, staring Flint right in the eyes.

“And what about when we have the gold? What will keep you alive then?” Flint asked, voice raspy.

“Well, that will be in some time still, yes? By that time, we might be friends.” Silver offered Flint his best smile. ‘You might remember why you liked me so much in the past.’ He added in his head.

The smile Flint gave him in return was sharper than a sword and cruel like a shark’s.

It chilled John to the bones.

 

No matter. He had found his way into James McGraw’s good graces once. He could do the same with Captain Flint.

 

OOOOOO

 

“How the fuck did you manage to get Eleanor Guthrie to protect your sorry ass?” Flint asked as he strode back toward the ship.

John almost had to jog to match his pace, and he was reasonably certain Flint was doing it on purpose. That man had a super-human stride, especially when frustrated.

“Well, I’m an easy man to like.” John smiled at Flint’s, even when Flint raised a skeptical eyebrow, undoubtedly remembering, like John, the last time the young man told him that. Only this time, John had to make friends in order to protect himself from Flint, not the other way around.

That shift was still not one John was comfortable with.

“I helped her solve an _aggravating_ problem she had. I’m a giver like that.” Silver said. Flint growled and spun around to face John.

“I told you not to play games with me.” John could tell Flint was barely holding on to the insults that wanted to fly from his lips.

“I’m not playing any game. You stashed me here, with nothing to do. I mean, I’m flattered you care about my continuous survival enough to take such measures, it truly warms the cockles of my heart.” John said, ignoring the harsh snort Flint blew out at the words. “But I get bored easily. I figured getting on Miss Guthrie’s good side could be nothing but beneficial for the both of us. If then she decided she appreciated me, well I can’t exactly blame her. Can you?” John asked, leering at Flint as he gestured at himself grandly.

Flint sneered, rolling his eyes as he started walking toward the boat once more.

“Yes, I can. If you think I’m not aware you sought her approval to ensure I wouldn’t kill you in the future, you are underestimating me.” Flint said.

“I would never do that.” Silver answered truthfully. They had reached the beach, and Flint moved under an empty tent, staring at Silver.

“I beg your pardon?” Flint asked.

“I would never be stupid enough to underestimate you. And that’s why I take measures to ensure my continued survival.” John said with a cocky grin.

“It that so? What kind of insight in my soul do you presume to have that would keep you from that mistake?” Flint asked with a cruel glint in his eyes.

“None, absolutely none. Regardless of what I may or may _not_ have known in the past,” Flint’s eyes flashed with dark menace as they did every time Silver mentioned their old encounter in Port-Royal, “You take great pains to ensure that no one might know anything of _Captain James Flint._ But I know the shortest way to my death and the loss of my gold would be to underestimate you and what you can do and know. So I will remain cautious, expecting the worse, and I have no doubts you will do the same. But if we are to work together, to work toward the gold, you’ll have to accept that sometimes, I will take actions for _both_ our benefits.” John said.

Flint stared silently for a long time.

“And I assure you, there’s _plenty_ of actions I can take for _both our benefits._ ” Silver grinned at Flint, taking a small step forward.

For a second, John saw a spark brighten Flint’s eyes, but before he could act on it, Flint took a jerky step back, schooling his features back into a sneer and stalked out.

 

John sighed in disappointment. Whatever, he was now one step closer to the gold, and Flint, well Flint’s façade was starting to show some very slight if promising cracks.

 

OOOOOO

 

‘Well that’s a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into Silver.’ John couldn’t help but think as he sat on the beach, looking at the rest of the crew trying to salvage whatever they could from the Walrus.

A slight groan snapped him out of his dark thoughts, and it was all he could do not to scramble to Flint’s side. The man was still unconscious, so John busied himself by making sure the makeshift bandage covering his wound was still in place and as effective as it could be expected to be.

The sight of the bloody rag twisted his gut in anger, and he couldn’t help but throw a glare at the beach where Dufresne was supervising the efforts.

How dare that man destroy everything John had put so much effort into building those last few weeks? Because of him, they almost lost the Urca, the gold, and _Flint._

Almost lost him now that John was more fascinated and terrified by him than ever.

Realising his hand was still resting on Flint’s chest, John took it back and scooted a bit farther away, just enough not to be tempted to reach out and reassure himself by feeling Flint’s pulse.

How could Flint still twist his gut and muddy his thoughts after Silver found him cradling the body of his closest friend he had just murdered with his bare hands?

How could John still want to feel those hands on his skin after he had seen over and over again the carnage they wrought into any being that got too close to them?

He should be running away, he should have run away long ago. He should have stuck to his original plan, sold the fucking schedule to Vane. He would have had a fortune large enough for his descendants to waste away their lives for the next five generations.

Now he was here, stranded on the same island as the richest ship in the New World and a crew of pirates that wanted to skin him, and his only glimmer of hope was another man who also maybe still wanted to kill him as well.

He should have taken the deal. He knew it. How could he have been stupid enough to place all his future prospects in the hand of _another_ man, of anyone other than himself? He should have known better.

He should have known he couldn’t rely on someone that was both a perfect stranger and his most cherished memory.

Flint wanted nothing more from him than his ability to keep Max from telling on them, he had made that clear over and over again. John wanted to curse himself every time one of Flint’s glacial glares pinched his chest.

He wanted to curse himself every time something else flashed in Flint’s eyes and gave him hope, bringing up old memories of scalding kisses, strong hands and pliant bodies.

 

Why had he expected Flint to be as hungry for this as him when he was barely recognizable as the man Silver seduced into his bed?

 

At last, Flint shifted himself back into the world of the living with a small cough, and John forced himself to stay put. He wasn’t going to give Flint the satisfaction of knowing John cared about his wellbeing further than necessary to get the gold, when he would very happily stick a knife in John’s heart.

Flint slowly, slowly got up on his elbows, turning gingerly to look at John. How he could have known where he sat, John couldn’t fathom.

“I think it’ll be a while before she sails again.” He said wryly, jerking his chin toward the wrecked ship. Flint turned back to also assess the damage. “In the meantime, you and I have been charged with provoking this whole mess.” John added.

Look what I did for you. Look what I did to _help you._ Why can’t you trust me, you stubborn son of a bitch? Why can’t you hear how good _you and I_ sound?

Flint stayed silent until Dufresne, that worthless idiotic piece of shit walked over, trying to look like a Captain and not a notary.

“Why I am still alive?” Flint asked with a raspy voice, and John wanted to growl at him. Most of the crew already wanted to rip their heads from their necks, it really wasn’t necessary to goad them on! “Why haven’t you killed me?”

Dufresne looked down on him before telling John to get Flint up. John pushed himself to his feet to comply, but Flint waved him off. With a twinge of hurt and a sigh of frustration, John moved back to watch Flint painfully fight his way upright with groans of pain.

 

“Told you we couldn’t have been wrong regarding the Urca,” he told Flint as they walked toward the other end of the beach. “Unfortunately, you and I failed to account for the weather.”

He stood beside Flint as he took in the awe-inspiring scene in front of them, the gold scattered on the beach calling to them like sirens.

He wanted to laugh when Dufresne asked Flint for help, for counsel, when _he_ was the reason their first plan had gone irreparably to shit less than twelve hours ago. He even dared to forbid John from calling him Captain.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when Flint spat out his anger back into Dufresne’s face with a verve and rage that made John feel a bit hotter, especially since it wasn’t aimed at him for once.

However, Flint was too smart to let such an opportunity fly past him, and he told the crew of a plot to take over the Man of War with two men. John stared in amusement as he saw them buy it, swallow it whole.

A perfect plan of escape, where they would let John and Flint go willingly and not realise their mistake until it was too late and they were out of their reach.

It wouldn’t be too hard to get to a town and catch a boat back to Nassau. Then, convincing another crew to come and get the gold would be a piece of cake, now that they knew its exact location and what was protecting it.

 “You shit.” Flint growled at him once they were out of the crew’s hearing range.

“Uhm, beg your pardon?” Silver asked, confused.

“I needed a fighter. Someone I could count on to make a difference on that ship. What the fuck were you doing, volunteering?” Flint spat out.

A perfect plan that Flint had to ruin by it not being his plan all along.

Why did Silver insist on tying his faith to this man’s?

He tried to reason with Flint, but the man ignored him completely.

“I don’t need to go back to Nassau, I’m more than happy to find another place to survive!” He argued, even if the thought of abandoning the gold he worked so hard for was making him sick.

“Saint-Augustin is that way,” Flint said, pointing the opposite direction Silver had been walking in, “It’s at least a week of walking, with all sorts of tribe in between. I doubt you’ll make it to see the sun tomorrow.” Flint said, walking toward the water, resolute.

John couldn’t help but wonder whether or not that was concern that flashed in Flint’s eyes. Whether or not the man cared in the slightest whether John saw the sun one more day.

With one last desperate look around, John followed him, throwing his jacket away.

He couldn’t remember even being as terrified as he was as he and Flint boarded the ship. He had been afraid for his life before, of course he had, but he had never been surrounded by dozens of men that would want nothing more than slice his throat, including the man that was supposed to be his ally.

In any case, no matter how much of a coward John Silver had been called in his life, if the one thing that stood between him and death was taking over a Man of War with Captain Flint, he was going to give it his all. Grabbing the lookout whistle was risky, but it was a calculated risk.

Not that it seemed to matter to Flint who slammed him into a wall with a knife to his throat as soon as he could, hissing at John in seething anger.

All the frustration of the past few weeks burst out of his chest and he threw back at Flint all he had done and risked for him since he climbed on his boat, forcing him to see it, forcing him to realise John was not and did not want to be his enemy.

He felt Flint’s grip on the knife slip when he told him he’d saved his life, that he was the only man on the island and surrounding waters that did not want him dead.

The sudden awareness, now that his life wasn’t being threaten as pointedly, that this was the first time Flint had touched him since John had given him the schedule was suddenly dizzying. Tension seemed to leak slowly out of Flint’s muscles. In the darkness, Flint’s expression was softer than it had been in weeks, confused and wary and –

Flint wrenched himself away. John had to grasp at the wall for support against the sudden rush of air. The sounds of people walking above them brought him back to reality, and he jumped back into action at Flint’s side, heart beating even more erratically than before.

The rest of the fight passed in a blur, from being captured to tricking his captors, to Flint believing _again_ that he would betray him so easily.

Only when the sails where full and the sea wind was hitting his face did Silver felt like his mind was working again, like he could think of something else than Flint standing bloody and proud at the bow of the ship, looking over the sea like it belonged to him.

 

He only trusted himself back by Flint’s side that night, when the acid looks the rest of the crew threw his way chased him back toward the person that least resented his presence. John wasn’t sure if the events of the day had mellowed Flint or if the ambiance on the ship made him seem kind in comparison.

Nevertheless, after Dufresne came to announce to them that the crew had decided to spare their lives, John found boldness in himself to go stand by Flint’s side against the railing.

“They think they’ve got you beat. Look at them.” Silver said, jerking his head into the direction of Dufresne’s back.

“And you don’t?” Flint asked evenly, cocking an eyebrow at him. Silver simply gave him an unimpressed look in answer. “Why not?”

“Because, as I’ve told you before, I’m not stupid enough to make the mistake of underestimating you. I don’t believe you did any of this for a pardon. Or a passage to Nassau. Or to be able to walk away from anything! I think you intend to reclaim your captaincy. I think you intend to take control of this ship. And I think you intend to return to that beach, armed to the teeth, and seize every last ounce of gold off of it. And I think you’re gonna need my help to do it.” Flint turned his head slowly to stare at him. John raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Flint’s silence was a balm on John’s bruised spirits.

 

OOOOOOO

 

Becoming Flint’s right hand man was an experience. The man was demanding and harsh, and while he obviously trusted John’s ability to get the job done, John very much doubted he truly trusted John himself yet.

However, he now sometimes displayed something else than frustration toward John, which was a welcome change. His reluctantly impressed grins dulled the pain of behind repeatedly punched and kicked by his fellow crew members as he finally managed to slowly win their trust back

When Flint had asked why he was staying with the crew and helping him now that he had the opportunity to leave unarmed, John told him about the money, about his distaste for the life of a pirate and for the sea. For a moment, John had the urge to protect himself and add that he couldn’t wait to be free of Flint. To try and convince Flint that he had no true influence on John outside of the gold. But he couldn’t. Now that Flint had finally, finally allowed him nearer, John couldn’t bring himself to close that door.

Watching him stride proudly back up to the bow of _his_ ship after having seized the control from Dufresne’s weak unworthy hands felt like his own triumph.

So, from necessity and hopefully a little bit of respect, Flint let John become his ally, and John found he had a talent for swaying the crew along the moods of the Captain.

He could feel the resenting eyes of Dufresne on the back of his neck, the Quartermaster keenly aware that Flint wouldn’t allow him to keep the position he had used to usurp him, keenly aware that John was stealing any chance of redeeming himself from him.

John kept going regardless, keeping his mind on the gold and his eyes on Flint.

 

OOOOOOO

 

Spending all his waking hours either at Flint’s side or having to think about him constantly was maddening. Where previously John could sometimes distract himself from the other man through his scheming, both for the gold and for self-preservation, now both of these things necessitated a close cooperation with Flint.

He would have to collect Flint’s orders, carry them out to the crew, and convince them to follow the Captain. Then he would have to turn around and go back to Flint to tell him all the insight he had acquired, what he thought it meant, what they should do about it.

And John remembered a time where they had done something similar, only they had been sitting at a table, for hours.  With _James_. He had done much the same, talk about one passerby after the other, telling James all about their lives, their weak points and failings. He’d been desperate to prove himself to this Navy man that had decided to give a little street runt like him the time of day.

He remembered what had happened when he had finally convinced James of his worth, convinced him he was interesting and smart and _good enough._

He remembered how good, how right it had felt to kiss James, right in the middle of the street.

“Silver!” Flint barked.

John started, feeling flushed, too hot, too uncomfortable. Flint was still seated behind his desk, but he was leaning forward, brows drawn together. In the candlelight, he looked almost more concerned than irritated.

Silver cleared his throat as his mind conjured images of James gently checking a wound on his throat, fingers gentle and eyes soft.

“Beg pardon?” John asked like nothing was amiss.

“You stopped talking.” Flint said, voice harsh.

“I didn’t think you would complain about that.” Silver quipped, forcing himself to grin. In truth, he had actually finished his report when he had been stupid enough to let his mind wander.

Flint didn’t have an answer to that, and he simply stared at John, as if trying to drill inside his brain to get the answers he wanted.

John stared right back, until the tension made it hard to breathe, until Flint’s eyes on him brought back too vivid memories of the sweet way James had looked down at John when they were in bed together.

Snapping himself back to reality again, John gave a sharp nod and turned swiftly away, not-quite-running out of the cabin.

He needed to get out. He needed to get out before he gave too much away.

What was _wrong_ with him tonight? Was it the heat? Was it Flint’s tentative civility toward him? Was it the prolonged proximity? Was he simply horny after weeks at sea, being heavily scrutinised by the crew?

John didn’t know, but he knew he had to get a grip on himself –ha- and fast. He couldn’t afford to think about James, especially not where Flint could see, where Flint could know.

And yet, and yet.

He remembered with painful clarity how strong James’ hands where, holding John still while he kissed his breath away. He couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel if Flint were to hold him. Would his hands be coarser, with more callouses? Would he hold tighter, be more demanding? James had been almost sweet in bed, kissing John with reverence, making sure he came first, holding his hand afterward.

Would Flint have him over his desk and then send him away? Would he allow John to regain his senses in his cabin before casting his off back to the crew?

Reasonably certain that no member of the crew would come to this part of the ship, this close to the Captain’s cabin, during the night, John slipped in a cranny, far enough from Flint’s door not to be seen.

With a groan of frustration at his own lack of self-control, John untied his breaches. He kept them up, but pushed his hand inside, grabbing his cock.

The pressure was a relief and a cruel tease. John’s hand wouldn’t be satisfying, he knew, whether he came or not. He craved the touch of someone else, he craved being wanted, if only for a few seconds.

It would take the edge off, however, and that was all John needed. He just needed to get himself under control.

He started jerking himself off, fast and tight and too dry. He just needed it over with.

He heard Flint’s door open, and he froze, before scrambling to tuck himself back into his breaches, tying them back up.

Flint would probably just climb up to the deck, and John would be fine, he could finish and go about his business.

“Silver?” Flint asked, moving toward where John stood, and he barely stopped from cursing. The door was still open, casting a yellow glow in the hull.

Flint stood in front of John, between him and the hallway, cutting his exit, should he need to flee. Luckily, the Captain also hid most of the light coming from his cabin, allowing just enough to see the vague outline of Silver, but not in what state he was in.

“Yes, Captain?” John answered, voice even.

“What are you doing here?” Flint asked, and John suddenly realised Flint had come out to look for him, concerned at the suddenness of his departure.

He’d been worried about Silver.

“Inventory?” John quipped, with a false smirk Flint wouldn’t see. The captain sighed in frustration, but was apparently satisfied about Silver’s well-being.

He turned around to go back to his cabin. The movement suddenly allowed light to flow in the cramped space, and John knew Flint could see all of him.

Flint could see how flushed and sweaty John was, how a few curls stuck to his forehead. He could see his heaving chest and the way his cock pushed against the fabric of his breaches.

He could see it all, and he froze, eyes going wide. For a long moment, they simply stood, neither willing to make the first move.

Flint’s eyes kept jumping from John’s face to his groin, pupils dilating steadily, fingers clenching and unclenching restlessly at his sides.

Feeling weakness, a twinge of potential, John slowly shifted, tilting his head back, eyebrows rising in invitation to Flint. The captain tensed, frowning to glare daggers at Silver as his body leaned forward, as if drawn helplessly to him.

So the captain didn’t want to want him. John considered playing the same game, getting to his feet and walking away, but it was too late. Flint already saw how affected he was.

Maybe it was time to remind James of what he had to offer. Maybe it was time to show him exactly what he was missing.

Slowly, his eyes never leaving Flint’s, John reached back down to untie his breaches once more. Flint made a wary noise, but didn’t move as his eyes tracked John’s hands.

John took his cock out again, allowing a soft groan to push past his lips as he wrapped his fingers around it once again.

It had flagged somewhat in the last few minutes, but it filled back up quickly as Flint’s eyes widened and stared hungrily. John felt his eyes flutter shut, and forced himself to open them back up, not wanting to miss a second of this.

He found Flint staring back at him, one hand on the wall like he needed to support himself, like watching John jerk off was weakening his knees.

“Mister Silver?” Flint asked, and God his voice was wrecked. John shivered as he heard it, and sped up his hand, abstaining himself from answering. There wasn’t anything for him to say that he wanted Flint to know.

He could hear Flint pant, and by now the Captain’s pants were even tighter than they usually were, and yet the other man stayed immobile. As if watching John pleasure himself was the most mesmerizing experience in the world.

John came with a gasp, arching his back exaggeratedly for the sake of his audience. Flint swayed dangerously, and actually took a step closer, and John felt his heart skip a beat. Maybe, maybe.

The floorboard cracked when Flint shifted his weight forward, and the Captain snapped upright again. Before John could move, he spun around, and stalked back to his cabin, slamming the door behind him.

John was left alone once more in the dark, only this time his hand was covered in semen and his skin felt branded by the hungry inferno raging in Flint’s eyes.

“What the fuck.” He whispered blankly into the air, before swiping his hand clean on nearby piece of fabric and putting his clothes back in order.

 

 

“Did you know Carson thinks you can shape shift into a shark?” John asked the day after. He had perched himself on the bench in front of the window in Flint’s cabin, staring as the man wrote something down at his desk. He had come in to report the last coming and goings of the crew, but now felt himself disinclined to leave. The brief awkwardness that had fallen upon them as memories of the previous evening flashed in their minds had quickly dissipated, as they were called back to the more immediate matters.

In the bright light of day, it almost felt like a weird hallucination, and the only thing confirming to John that it had actually happen was the blush that would grace the top of Flint’s ears once in a while when he looked at him.

They were both practical men, however, and that took precedence over anything else.

 Nevertheless, now John felt the urge to make sure they hadn’t lost the –if not _easy_ at least _easier –_ rapport they had reached lately.

Flint interrupted himself in his writing for a second, before resuming, an amused “Is that so?” inviting John to pursue his train of thought, inviting him to remain and talk.

Maybe John wasn’t the only one wishing for companionship after all, no matter how much Flint seemed to fight against it.

“Yes, apparently that’s why you have such a talent at navigating the sea. And a taste for blood. Some witnesses allegedly saw you jump from the deck in the dead of night, shifting mid-air to swim in the sea and satisfy your hunting instincts.” Silver retold.

“You would think that as a pirate, my _hunting instincts_ would be pretty satisfied.” Flint remarked.

“True! But Mr. Carson was convinced, saying that sometimes your true nature took over and drove you to taste fresh flesh with your own teeth. Only my express reassurance that I would personally speak for his safety the next time you went for a little skinny dipping could settle him down and stop him from working the crew into a frenzy.” Silver laughed.

Flint turned around to look at him properly, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“And what makes you and Mr. Carson think you’re not the first one I’ll take a bite out of, the next time I feel like _hunting?_ ” He asked, voice droll.

Silver grinned, delighted, and spread his hands in invitation.

“Captain, if you wanted a taste of me, all you had to do was ask!” He offered with a grin.

Flint’s face didn’t shift, but several emotions sparked in his eyes before he sighed and jerked his head toward the door.

“Get out.” He ordered John. Knowing he should have left a while ago, John decided to comply. He had pushed his luck enough already, knowing Flint would probably still be on edge from the previous night, still fighting against _this._

Stubborn man.

“Aye, aye, Captain.” He quipped. Just before he closed the door, however, he couldn’t help but turn back around with a smirk.

“The offer will still be open whenever you feel _hungry._ ” He heard Flint sigh as he walked away. That went better than expected.

 

OOOOOO

 

The night before they arrived in Nassau, he was leaning on the rail of the ship, looking up at the stars, when soft footsteps interrupted his peace. There was only one man who could approach silently at this hour and not immediately try to strike a conversation with him. John cocked his head in acknowledgment but waited for Flint to talk first.

“I thought you didn’t care for the sea?” he asked, voice low. John couldn’t tell if it was to remain unheard by the crew, or out of respect for John’s peace.

“I don’t. I find water to be quite like any other water. Stars, though, have some merits.” John answered calmly.

“Why would you choose this life? Why, if you hate everything about it, have you been doing this for over ten years?” Flint asked.

John turned to him, surprised. It was the first time Flint acknowledged out loud that they had known each other previously, that he knew more about John than what he had gleaned since he had served on his ship. It was also the first time Flint asked to know anything about John that wasn’t about testing his loyalties.

“Well, there wasn’t a lot of other prospects for me, was there? Poor orphan boy, too clever for his own good, living in the New World. I needed a job that didn’t ask me for any kind of contacts and education, working on a ship seemed the logical option at the time. Since then, I guess no other opportunity presented itself.” He paused for a breath. “And you, Captain, had you not been the son of a carpenter, would you have gone into the Navy?” John asked, returning the favor. He regretted his boldness when Flint gave him a sharp look, surprised John remembered what he had told him about his father. John cursed himself. The last thing Flint needed to know was how much John cherished his memories of James McGraw.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I have been told I have a temper.” John couldn’t help but snort at that, and a swift grin stretched Flint’s mouth. “Maybe the Navy was the only place I could use it as an honest man.” Flint offered, looking out at the sea, expression flat once more.

“Or maybe you could have found a use for all your fucking books and would never have needed to awaken your temper at all.” John offered. Flint turned to look at him, and for a long time, neither of them spoke.

Flint’s eyes were as dark as the water in the night, and John could see stars reflected in their depths. The captain seemed to be waiting for something, but John couldn’t fathom what. Flint was a mystery to him under the sun, but under the shroud of night he seemed a legend made of fury and sea mist.

John didn’t think Flint had ever been closer and farther from Lieutenant James McGraw.

Flint sighed and moved away, leaving John alone once more with his thoughts, like all he had wanted in the end was to ask about John’s choice of career.

The morning after, they made land in Nassau, and their plan was once again shredded to pieces.

 

OOOOOO

 

John was seething, pacing back and forth. Between Vane seizing the fort, Hornigold and Flint allying themselves to take back the fort for the sake of the gold remaining in their hands when they finally would get it, and the shifting allegiances of Eleanor Guthrie, John was running himself ragged trying to keep the crew and the Captain under control. Now, on top of all the bullshit, Billy had reappeared, threaten to rip away the little bit of trust the crew had given back to the Captain.

But no matter. No matter the ‘warnings’ Hornigold and Billy had given him about the perils of being Flint’s right hand man, as if Silver didn’t know already. No matter that his voice was hoarse from convincing everyone to align themselves with him.

No matter Flint’s temper and unending demands.

He had it under control, because he was damn good at what he did.

Then the Barlow woman showed up, and everything went tits up again. Now Flint wanted to go back on his word to Hornigold, wanted to give up taking back the fort, all to bring back the daughter of a governor, to try and broker a peace with England.

And John wasn’t stupid. He knew the only reason Flint would be willing to leave Vane in control of the fort, in control of the place the gold would be stowed, was that he didn’t intend to store the gold there. Or at least, that getting the gold had slid so far down his list of priorities that securing the place where he would stow it had become negligible.

John also knew that if they wanted to make peace with England, stealing a fortune from a country England had just made peace with would be unacceptable. England would demand that they return the gold to Spain, as a condition for their agreement.

If John knew that, Flint knew it too.

He spun on his heels once more, sand shifting underneath his feet, trying to find a way to fix this whole mess. Surely there was a way to convince Flint. Surely, he could-

Flint knew, thought at least, that the gold was the only thing keeping John on his crew.

But now that they were back on Nassau, Flint must think he could make it without him. He was probably right, too. John had spent too much time at Flint’s side by now to think anything impossible for the man.

With a growl, Silver gave up on calming his inner turmoil and strode up the street toward Eleanor Guthrie’s house. When he got there, he froze, an icy vice crushing his chest.

Flint was standing in the portico with Miss Barlow. In fact, Flint was standing very close to Miss Barlow, a hand softly pressing on her waist, head bent down toward hers.

And John knew two things.

First, if Miss Barlow was there to convince Flint of the validity of the scheme with the governor’s daughter, and she must be, nothing Silver could say would be able to change his mind, not for all the gold on the Urca.

Second, Flint had never ever looked at John like he looked at Miss Barlow now, full of a tenderness and care John didn’t even know the man was capable of feeling anymore. And John knew, _knew_ from the bottom of his soul that he would never have Flint in any way, because he could never scrub from his memory this moment, could never ignore how much Flint _wouldn’t_ feel for him. No matter how much more pleasant the Captain had been these last few days, John would never have _that._

With his heart still lodged in his throat, he walked up to Flint, and to his dismay, felt no satisfaction when he saw them break apart hastily, Miss Barlow going back inside the house, while Flint came out to meet him.

Nothing for the rest of the day, from Billy being reintroduced to the crew, to Hornigold calling a vote against Flint to sooth his bruised ego, to helping Max cover up a murder, could chase away from his mind the notion that he had no reason to stay, nothing in the future in Nassau could offer.

No gold. No James.

Nothing could distract from the fact that everything was shifting around him, perpetually changing and disorienting him, and that he had nothing to hang on, no rock in this storm, no lifeline. The gold would be gone, Flint would cast him aside at the first opportunity.

Yet, he still worked to help Flint, gathering votes, seducing more men to the side of the Captain, while he himself felt disengaged from all of it.

His stomach churned at the idea that Flint could have such influence over him to keep John by his side even if John could hope for nothing in return.

Everything in him fought against the notion John Silver could be anything but his own man to the end.

When he went to Flint that afternoon, when the man once again made impossible demands, like John would still do as he asked, like he still had anything to offer for everything John did for him, John felt his whole being rebel and churn and rage. He felt as if his body wanted to split in two, one part wanting to stay by Flint’s side whatever may come, the other wanting to run and run and run as far away as he could.

John felt lost and powerless and he wanted to _scream_ and _hit._ He wanted to make sense of this whole mess, but everything was moving too fast.

“There’s one particular vote I’m having trouble with. Perhaps you could help me with it?” He prodded, settling close to Flint, his voice miraculously empty of turmoil.

“Whose vote is that?” Flint asked, tone even. John took that as a faith in his abilities more than disinterest in his problems, but that was probably wishful thinking on his part.

“Mine.” He said. The way Flint’s head snapped up, his eyes widening for a second, was gratifying, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

“What?” Flint asked, voice flat.

“When you returned here, you said the gold would be your priority. That it would be gone within a week or two. Now you’re fighting against Vane and Hornigold and you’re planning a fucking diplomatic mission to Charlestown. What the fuck does that mean for us, for me?” he asked, leaning forward to look Flint in the eyes.

Flint looked around, jaw clenching as John spoke before staring back at him when he was done.

“The gold is still a priority. There’s been no change in that. You have my word.” He promised.

John nodded, quipped that that was all he needed to hear, like Flint’s word meant anything anymore.

 

Hours later, when the longboat they had sent to the Urca came back, when the two men told him of the gold now ripe for the taking, unguarded and vulnerable, Flint’s words rang through his head.

Fuck him.

 

John Silver was going to be his own anchor, he would weather this storm by himself, like he had always done. He should never have given control over his life over to Flint, and he was done with that now.

He was John Silver, and he was going to get out of this shitshow, he was going the get the only thing he could out of it, and fuck the rest of them. Fuck Flint.

Telling Captain _Flint_ that the gold was gone, that he had failed them, that he had been too slow, that he had lost the only thing keeping John by his side, made John feel like he could fly. The panic that flew over Flint’s face gave him wings.

Finally, finally John Silver had the upper hand again.

 

And yet, _and yet,_ after they had heard the testimonies, after Flint dismissed all the others, he still had the _gall_ to start demanding of John again. To want to discuss how to handle the situation with him.

Like nothing had changed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, bracing himself on the desk to look at Flint.

“I’m trying to figure out how we’ll get ourselves out of this problem.” Flint answered calmly, and John wanted to hit him and bite him and kiss him.

“There is no _we.”_ John said. ‘And that’s you’re fucking fault. It’s all your fucking fault.’ He thought.

“I was only in this for the gold,” he added, “You’ve stopped being of any relevance to me an hour ago,” Liar, liar a voice in his head chanted until he crushed it mercilessly, “I made sure to be very clear on the subject. I’m not here for the politics, I’m not here for the sea, and I’m certainly not here for _you._ Now you’ve lost the gold, and I’m not going to stick around watching you burn this place to the ground with your endless crusades.” He hissed out, lips curling over his teeth.

With one last look at Flint, he turned around.

“Are you really just going to leave?” Flint asked. When John turned around he had stood up, glaring at him. “Are you just going to leave the crew?”

“Really?” John scoffed with a disbelieving smile. “That’s the argument you’re going with? To stay here for the sake of the _crew?_ ” he threw back at Finn. Ask me to stay, tell me _you_ need me, he thought, he begged in his mind.

“For _your_ sake. Where the fuck would you go? These men listen to you, they give a shit about you and what you have to say, what you want them to say and think and be. Where else will that ever be true again? Where else will you ever be someone who fucking matters? Where else will you ever be able to say you’ve truly done the _best with your lot in life_?” Flint spat out.

John felt the words punch him in the gut one after the other, and he wanted to scream to make it stop. Even when he knew Flint was aiming for his weak spots, that Flint was playing dirty, he also knew it was true. He knew because Flint was just throwing back words he had told him years ago, when he was still young and stupid enough to have dreams and aspirations and tell someone about them.

He felt the words punch his stomach because none of them were about _Flint._ Only about the lack of options Silver would have in his life. Only stating that pirating would forever be his best choice.

 

Silver thought about going back to his old life of people ignoring him, dismissing him, spitting on him and everything he was. Back to being nobody, back to the same old routine every old day.

Of course, that would change when he got the gold. He could run away far from the West Indies, make himself the most interesting man in town, the most desirable.

But he didn’t have the gold yet.

So he would stay. He would have to stay anyway until the gold was gathered, might as well _matter._ John looked in Flint’s eyes however, and promised himself that if he was to stay because of the way the crew looked at him, then Flint could go fuck himself, he would not stay for _him_.

So he went to convince the crew to follow Flint. Maybe Flint was even right, maybe bargaining with the governor was the only way to survive.

 

But John didn’t give a shit what Flint or Eleanor Guthrie or the King of England had to say, he would be damned if he left that gold on that beach.

Max owed him a favor anyway.


	3. Flint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, one minor character expresses some homophobic opinions.

Flint stood on the deck of the Man of War, his rage pulsing around him, twisting his reality, tainting the world with smoke and blood and darkness.

He felt every shot that fired from the ship as if he had thrown it himself, and every brick that fell in Charlestown stoked the inferno consuming him.

He stood, the deafening chaos around him filling the swirling black hole in his chest, giving him life for just a second, just a moment.

They would pay. All of those miserable wretches would pay. Flint would crush each and every one of them, until he could bathe in the blood streaming down their streets.

He stood, watching Charlestown burn, the blaze still colder than Flint’s. Vane took control, directing the men to take them back to Nassau.

Flint stood, and suddenly felt like his breath was snuffed away. Miranda was gone, gone, gone like Thomas had been.

Flint like he was falling, like he was floating away. They were gone, gone, gone forever. He could feel Billy’s eyes on him, worried and confused.

Flint needed, he needed- he –

“Where’s Silver?” he asked, barely recognizing his own voice.

The other man should have been the first one to reach him, like the insufferable torn in his side he was. He should have been the one trying to tell Flint what had happened, he should have been the one arguing against freeing Vane’s men. He would have done a much better job of it than Billy did.

He should have been standing by Flint’s side as they watched Charlestown burn.

Where the fuck was Silver?

Billy still hadn’t answered, and Flint turned slowly to face him. He didn’t know what Billy saw on his face, but the man was paler than death under his tan.

“There was an incident.” He edged, swallowing with difficulty.

Flint felt like the deck was shifting uncontrollably under his feet. Not Silver too. He couldn’t, he-

“Doctor Howell is taking care of him.” Billy added, still staring at Flint.

He was alive then. He was alive. Flint felt air rush back in his lungs. No matter how much the crew had come to care about Silver, none of them were romantic enough to cry over a corpse. He was still there. He was alive.

Flint spun around and stalked toward Howell’s room, Billy trailing behind him. He wasn’t needed on deck, Vane already had a better grasp on the situation than Flint could at the moment.

He needed to find Silver.

He threw the door to Howell’s room open. There were a few men gathered around the table, and none of them made to move away as Flint approached. Only Howell shifted, walking closer to Flint.

Flint felt his heart drop when he came to see Silver fully. The quantity of blood on the table and the floor was horrifying, but it was nothing compared to the void where Silver’s left foot used to be.

It was only the men’s eyes on him that prevented Flint from stumbling closer to Silver, to touch him, to reassure himself Silver still breathed, that his heart still beat.

Howell came to stand by his side.

“He will be fine, Captain. I treated the wound fast enough that there is very little chance of infections, and the removal was clean. He just needs to rest. A lot.” The doctor told him. Flint knew this voice, he hated this voice. It was the voice Howell used when talking to distraught patients or friends. The one he used on people who cared.

“Bring him to my cabin.” He ordered. His voice remained firm, despite his eyes never leaving Silver’s face.

The men standing around the table straightened to protest, but Flint cut them off with a burning glare.

“He needs peace and a clean room. My cabin is the only place on the fucking ship without people barging around at all hours of the day. Bring. Him. To. My. Cabin.” Flint ordered again, growling.

Howell shared a look with Billy over Flint’s shoulder, but Flint couldn’t bring himself to care. They could question his soundness of mind all they wanted, as long as Silver was brought to his cabin.

As long as Flint could be-

He stopped that train of thought abruptly as Howell spoke again.

“He’s right, lads. As long as we are careful to transport him, he’d be better in the Captain’s cabin.” He said, reassuringly.

Flint exhaled and walked out of the room, ordering Billy to take care of it. He rushed back to the cabin to make sure Silver could be comfortable. The Man of War had very large benches in front of the windows, where Silver always liked to perch. He said it was the best place to see all of the room, but Flint knew at least part of his enjoyment of the position came from displaying that Silver was the only one in any room Flint would let stand at his back.

Flint busied himself, taking out a few extra blankets from a cupboard, setting them down on the bench. He also found a padded roll to cushion the hard wood. Now that the shock had set in, Silver would likely be freezing and-

God above, why did Flint _care?_ Silver was nothing but an annoying weasel that wormed his way by Flint’s side through trickery and manipulation.

Flint should let him sleep in Howell’s cabin, he shouldn’t _care,_ not now, not anymore. Not after Miranda, not after Gates, not after _Thomas_.

A flash of Silver’s bloody stump tore into his mind, and Flint had to grasp the desk, bile rising to his throat.

He felt sick, sick like a few days ago when Silver had tried to leave. Leave the ship, leave the crew, leave _him._ God, why did Flint care about a man that only cared about gold?

He remembered the sheer panic that flew through him as Silver walked away, he remembered how he lashed out, desperate, terrified.

_Where else will you ever be someone who fucking matters? Where else will you ever be able to say you’ve truly done the best with your lot in life?”_

The hurt that had painted itself over Silver’s face still twisting his entrails. Why did he care? Why did he throw back in Silver’s face the words the man had giving him in confidence years ago? Why did he have to remind Silver of a time when he had wanted him _,_ when _James_ had been enough to make him stay, without the promise of gold?

Silver stayed, in the end. He stayed because Flint convinced him to, and now he had lost his leg for it. Flint had taken it from him. Without Flint’s pathetic and vicious words, Silver would be long gone by now, whole. Free. Safe.

Fuck!

_Why did he care?_

A knock on his door dragged him out of his head, and if the sick feeling crawling in his chest didn’t disappear, at least Flint was able to straighten up and call out for the men to enter with an even voice.

Muldoon opened the door, before stepping aside. Billy entered next, holding one end of a make-shift gurney on which Silver laid, Howell at the other end.

Flint stepped aside to let them pass, a jerk of his head indicating the bench he had cleared for Silver.

They worked efficiently, wanting Silver to be properly resting as fast as possible. As soon as it was done, Billy cleared out the room of everyone but Howell, bringing them back to the deck because ‘they had a fucking ship to sail’.

Howell stayed behind, looking over Silver’s wound and complexion.

“He’s probably going to be out of it for a while.” He said, pressing the back of his hand to Silver’s forehead. Flint said nothing but watched attentively.

“There should also always be someone to watch over him, be it you or another member of the crew. The last thing he needs is to wake up alone and worsen his injury accidently.” Howell added, turning back to face Flint. The captain simply nodded. He would make sure someone loyal to Silver was in the cabin at all times. Vane and his men, as much as Flint accepted to work with them, would not step within ten feet of Silver as long as Flint had a say in it.

“I’ll be back in a few hours to clean and redress the wound.” Howell finished, gathering his instruments and leaving. Flint had always appreciated the doctor’s discretion and dislike for small talk, but it was a godsend at the moment.

He walked over to his desk, dragging his chair closer to Silver. Under the light of the sun, Silver looked paler than a corpse, and now that they were alone, Flint couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and touching him, laying a hand over his cheek.

Silver was burning up, his skin clammy and white under his tan, but he was alive. He was gloriously alive. Flint’s hand slid lower until it rested over Silver’s chest, where his heartbeat was too faint but still steady. Still present.

A sob pushed through Flint’s chest and he fell forward, forehead resting against the cool wood of the bench.

Miranda was dead. Miranda was dead. Miranda was gone forever. Flint could feel her soul slip through his fingers, over and over again.

He could see her dead body, the bullet hole in her forehead, the demons of Charlestown throwing rotten food at her. He sobbed and rage and cried and cursed.

His hand never left Silver’s chest.

Oh God above, why could he still _care_?

 

OOOOOO

 

Flint watched as Silver walked up the deck, talking with a few men. His voice was friendly, as were the claps on the shoulders he distributed liberally, but he almost never smiled. Under the moustache and beard he had decided to let grow, his face had lost most of the radiant expressions that had fascinated Flint, whenever he had let himself look properly.

His eyes were as sharp as ever, his words still artful and potent, but gone were the wide grins and cocky smirks. Flint hated himself for missing them.

For missing Silver, the old one, the one that knew James. The one that still flirted unrepentantly with Flint, no matter how many times the captain would brush him off.

 

Perhaps it was a good thing. With Miranda gone, Flint wasn’t sure he could push Silver away. He wasn’t sure he could deny himself the warmth of a willing body, the touch of someone who wasn’t afraid of him, the pure will that seemed to flash through Silver. He wasn’t sure he could deny himself someone who could remember he hadn’t always been this blood thirsty monster.

He didn’t think there was something he wouldn’t do for Silver to smile again, to prove that maybe all possibility of joy hadn’t been swept away with the bullet that killed Miranda.

 

Flint made sure his expressions was blank of all his turmoil as Silver finally made his way to him with uneven and slow steps.

“Good day Captain.” Silver said, voice firm and calm, despite his efforts and the pain he must be in.

“Mister Silver.” He answered calmly.

“The men would like to know whether they’ll be allowed to stay on Nassau for more than a couple of days this time.” Silver said, leaning on the rail beside Flint to take some weight off his leg. No matter how much Howell pushed him, the stubborn man refused to use the crutch where anybody could see him.

He had relented at the beginning, when the wound was too fresh for anything to touch it, when he was alone with Flint in the privacy of the Captain’s cabin. Since Silver insisted on moving out, however, he had been using the boot every day. Flint wondered how much of it was due to his memories of the amount of babysitting Randall had needed from Silver, and how much was due to the urge to be worth the regard the crew now had for him.

“We’ll stay long enough to restock the ship, and that’s all. There’s still plenty to be done.” Flint answered drily.

Silver sighed.

“It’s not that they don’t appreciate the regularity at which we catch prizes these days. I assure you, after the Urca debacle, everyone here is relieved for a reliable income. But you’ve been running them too hard for almost two months. They need some time off.” Silver said, turning to face Flint.

Flint felt concern wash through him.

“Do you need time off?” He asked, eyes jumping to Silver’s leg for a second. He immediately regretted when Silver’s calm expression clamped down, eyes hardening.

“This isn’t about me.” He answered harshly. Wasn’t that a new and weird feeling, Silver acting out of anything but self-interest?

“I make them the most successful pirates in the West Indies, and yet they still complain.” Flint mocked, changing the subject.

“Not much point in earning money if they never have the time to spend it. Give them a week off Captain, and they’ll be far easier to command when they get back.” Silver threw back at him with another hard glance.

Flint raised an eyebrow at Silver’s boldness, but made no answer. He knew Silver was right, but staying on Nassau was always difficult. No matter if he took a room, slept on the boat or went back to Miranda’s house, he would only stay awake during the night, plagued by the despair of what he had lost.

When he looked back to Silver, the man was looking at him with all too knowing eyes, and Flint felt anger surge up defensively.

“Get out and tell the men we’ll stay in Nassau for a week and not a day more.” He barked at Silver.

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Silver quipped, a shadow of a grin fleeting on his mouth.

 

OOOOOO

 

Flint walked back to his cabin, body thrumming. It should be, he had hunted a fucking Great White! He should be feeling greater than a man, greater than a pirate, greater than a Captain.

He should be proud and strong.

Yet, something else was there, however, too, under the blood lust, under the excitement and the feeling of being, at long last, full of food.

He barely made it back to his cabin before he lost control of himself, whirling back to slap his open palm against the door with a loud “Fuck!”

He started pacing up and down the cabin.

Fuck Silver. Fuck Silver and his treacherous ways. Fuck him and everything he was.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He had stolen from him, stolen the Urca gold, with _Rackham_ of all people. Yet he was still alive and standing on the deck.

Yet Flint didn’t wish to kill him, didn’t consider it even for a second.

Yet Flint still wished for him to remain at his side.

Because Silver was the same man that could hold his gaze and not back down. He was the same man who professed over and over again for weeks, not so long ago, that he only cared for himself, and yet tried to starve himself so he wouldn’t get more to eat than the rest of _his_ crew.

He was the man that got a band of hardened pirates to care so much for him that each and every last one of them would have gladly given up their measly rations for him, not because they were afraid of him, but because they _wanted to._

“In my head, you aren’t welcome.” He had told Silver just a few days prior. ‘Not like they welcomed you, not like these lucky imbeciles can _afford_ to welcome you.’ He had screamed in his mind.

He had been telling the truth. There was no one Flint wanted less to have influence over him, there was no one who could have a more disastrous impact on the Great Captain Flint. That snake of a man was too dangerous to have in his head, too clever to be cast out completely, too proud to be pushed to the side.

So Flint kept dragging himself away, away from the temptation, away from Silver’s influence and words.

Yet, and yet, and yet he was there, lurking at the back of Flint’s mind, sometimes a grating frustration gnawing at his nerves, sometimes the closest thing Flint had to a conscience.

More often than Flint liked to admit, he was the reason Flint would wake up flush and panting and rutting against his bed with broken little whispers, his dreams plagued with fantasies of smooth skins and maddening lips.

“You will account for me.” Silver had said, unafraid, even when there was no one but the both of them and weapons, when Flint could have easily disposed of him.

Silver knew he couldn’t. He knew the men would gut Flint if he ever came back without Silver.

“What did you do with your share?” Flint had asked.

“I gave up my claim to it. It was the only way to stay a part of the crew. Out in the world, I am nothing but an invalid.” Silver answered, voice shaking dangerously.

He spoke as if he hadn’t given up the only thing in the world he cared about to stay by Flint’s side.

Flint wanted to turn around and grab Silver. He wanted to pull him flush to him and devour him, make him his, give him one more reason to stay. He wanted Silver to melt into him, to finally stop this tug of war between the two of them. He wanted to prove to Silver how powerful he was, how much he meant, how much he could do, with or without his leg.

He never wanted Silver to ever speak of himself with such distress in his voice.

In the end, the only thing he got were splinters from holding on the oars with white knuckles.

In the end, he was still alone in his cabin.

In the end, Silver was still only on his ship for the sake of the crew.

“Or acknowledge that you and I would be a hell of a lot better as partners instead of rivals.” God, how good was this man at driving Flint crazy.

Partners. What did he mean by that? Did he have any idea what kind of partnership Flint would have with him if he could? Did he want the same? Could he ever come to want the same?

Flint let himself fall back on his cot. At least now they had wind in their sails. They were going to get back home, at long last.

 

OOOOOO

 

“I shouldn’t care about the idea of you sacrificing yourself for the crew. I’m here for their sake, because they need me, and I need them. And now, for some reason, I find myself bothered by that idea.” Silver rasped, sitting beside Flint, and when he look over, Flint saw fear and confusion in Silver’s eyes.

Flint found himself without words, sentences fleeting through his mind, too quick and faint to be grasped. He could do nothing but look as Silver shook his head lightly in denial. He could do nothing but stare as Silver promised he would make Flint the hero of this story, should he die. That he wouldn’t let Flint’s be the villain in their story.

He looked as Silver finally looked back at him with fire in his eyes, speaking of Flint with such faith that Flint couldn’t help but think maybe there was something about him worth saving. Maybe _Silver_ saw something worthwhile in him.

Silver wanted him to live, even if it meant putting his men, putting _himself_ into danger. Silver wanted Flint to stay by his side.

In the face of Flint’s silence, Silver sighed dejectedly, and shifted, but before he could move away, Flint’s hand moved and grabbed his sleeve loosely between two fingers. Silver froze, staring at Flint’s fingers before looking back up at him with wide eyes.

Flint stared back, letting his face show everything. Everything he wanted but couldn’t have, everything Silver woke up in his chest, everything he refused to look at for fear of being swallowed by it.

He offered it all to Silver.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Silver relaxed back by Flint’s side, closer than they had been before, arms brushing against each other every time they drew breathe.

Their hands rested back to back, fingers shifting ever so slightly in a teasing mockery of a caress. They didn’t dare take anything further, didn’t dare push their palms together and hold on for dear life like their bodies were craving.

They were daring to come closer, daring to give up a bit of their harsh independence for this, a maybe, a whisper of a promise.

Flint was daring to live, just a bit longer, was daring to put a few remaining scraps of his hope into someone else again.

He would like to say that he dared to care, but that choice had been made for him a long time ago.

 

If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was back on the beach at Port-Royal.

 

OOOOOO

 

Leaving Silver back at the Maroon Island while they went looking for Charles Vane was torture. Flint had been more than uneasy every time Silver went out of his sight ever since the man had lost his leg, but now, now that they were _something,_ now that they _might be_ something, leaving the man to  the mercy of a village of very tentative allies was almost painful.

No matter than the Queen’s daughter seemed to be fond of Silver, and by God, how did that little shit manage to make himself liked everywhere he went, the man was out of his reach should something happen, and the last time that had happened, a limb was lost.

Flint crept up the ship as they sailed into the night. In Silver’s absence, Billy had temporarily taken over as Quartermaster, which meant Flint was severely misinformed regarding the state of his crew. He doubted a few days would make such a difference, but after months of Silver being his ears and eyes in places Flint couldn’t reach, Billy’s healthy suspicion of the captain left him feeling blind, deaf and disturbingly vulnerable.

So he took it upon himself to gage the mood of his men. He could move silently on a ship, and he knew every shadowy nooks and crannies on the Walrus. What he couldn’t learn by engaging the crew, he could glean by overhearing it.

He ghosted around, reassured by the sounds of laughter and off-key singing, never stopping very long by any group. He didn’t wish to be caught, and he _really_ wasn’t interested in hearing the kind of dirty bullshit a group of half-inebriated sailors could spout to each other in the dead of night. As long as none of them were attempting to start trouble, Flint was more than happy to leave them alone, and trust that Silver knew enough of the dirty details should he need them in the future.

Once he was fairly certain no one was going to break down his cabin door to cut his throat open just yet, Flint sunk further down in the darkness to retire for the night.

“Thank god we left the fucking cripple back in that shit hole.”

Flint felt his whole body seize when a loud slurring voice rang out in a moment of silence. Slowly, still in the shadows, he turned around to face the crew again.

Everyone had fallen silent, staring in disbelieving shock at an oblivious man who was waving his bottle enthusiastically around. Walter, Winston, Wickham, Flint couldn’t exactly remember. They had recruited him a few weeks ago from a ship they had raided, when Flint’s distaste for taking in new members overruled by Silver’s and Billy’s insistence that they needed to replace the crew that kept dying in Flint’s unrelenting attacks.

“I beg your pardon?” Billy, the first one to regain his senses, asked as he rose to his feet, voice slipping from surprised to righteously angry as he spoke.

“The cripple. It’s a goddamn blessing we’ve left him back there. If I had to hear him clump his way up the deck one more time, I was gonna beat him up with his own leg.” Wickham added, stupidly delighted by his sudden attentive audience, “Fucking hell, men like him don’t belong on pirate ships. Everybody knows he’s only still around because he lets Flint bend him over and take him like a bitch.” He finished with a long swig of his bottle, like he had dealt a devastating argument.

For a second, Flint felt as if he’d been slapped on the face. Was that truly what the crew thought? Were they so stupid and blind to think Silver’s only worth was Flint’s desire for him?

Did Silver have to suffer similar indignation every day because of the way Flint looked at him?

A rough growl ripped him out of his own mind, and he observed, immobile, as four different crew members leaped to Wickham, all trying to punch him at the same time. The rest of the crew had jumped to their feet as well, and their thunderous snarls made their feelings on the matter very clear.

Momentary doubts soothed, Flint crossed him arms, deciding he’d let the men get the message across before he intervened. After all, Wickham wasn’t the only newcomer on the ship.

Billy seemed to have other plans however, of course he did.

“Stop it!” He shouted, and Billy raised his voice seldom enough that the effect was immediate, everyone freezing, even the four instigators. With a huff, the bo’sun dragged two of them off Wickham, leaving the other two to hold the bloody man down.

“John Silver sacrificed more for this crew than a vermin like you ever could. He gave up his leg for these man, and he still sails by our side because he is our brother. And soon, he’ll be back on this ship, where he _belongs,_ and you will threat him with all the respect he deserves.” Billy told him, his voice calm despite his sneer.

“What the fuck is your problem? Does he suck your cock too when he’s done with the captain?” Wickham asked, spitting blood on the floor.

Flint saw Billy’s eyes widen at the profound stupidity of the man, but before he could reply, a man grabbed Wickham’s hair and slammed his head furiously on the floor. With a general scream of rage, the crew pounced forward once more.

“Enough!” Flint shouted, stepping out of the shadows.

Everyone jumped out of his way, shocked and alarmed at the sudden appearance of the captain. They left Wickham on the floor, the man paling as he finally realised the gravity of his situation.

“Mr. Bones, please take this man up and tie him to the mast. He’ll be tried for attempted mutiny first thing in the morning.” Flint spoke as he looked down, grinning cruelly at the weasel.

“Aye Aye Captain.” Billy answered in an even voice, and he gestured to Joji to help him gather Wickham. Before they could reach him, however, the man panicked and jumped to his feet.

“That’s it, defend your fucking bitch you fucking sodomite!” Wickham screamed as he gestured wildly at Flint.

Flint felt rage crash through his brain, and almost as if time was trickling slower he felt him leap forward, punching Wickham hard enough the man flew back a few feet, falling in a heap of limp limbs on the floor.

He coughed up wetly, and Flint saw him spit out a couple of teeth.

The crew stood frozen, their eyes going from their Captain to Wickham back to their Captain. Flint took a few deep breathes, reminding himself that he couldn’t stalk forward and keep hitting Wickham until the rodent couldn’t ever speak again.

“Mr. Bones, if you please.” He said instead, taking a step back. Billy looked at him for a few seconds until, for the first time since he came back from the dead, the man nodded approvingly at Flint, quickly gathering Wickham and leaving before someone else got to the man.

“If anybody else has a complaint about Mr. Silver, a man _you_ have elected as your quartermaster, a man that has done nothing but serve your interests against me, the man that was ready to _starve_ to death so a few of you miserable souls could eat, than by all means. Take them up to me.” Flint snarled, eyes cruel and fists bloody.

He saw their fearful eyes on him, and he smiled joylessly. Good. They should remember what kind of danger Silver was shielding them from on a daily basis.

They should remember Silver was as essential to their continuous existence as for his.

 

OOOOOO

 

Flint stalked to the cabin where Silver would be waiting, mind whirling.

Silver had killed Dufresne. Silver had killed Dufresne by crushing his fucking head with his fucking peg leg.

 

He opened the door cautiously, and sure enough Silver was there, bracing himself heavily on the desk, his back to Flint.

“How are you?” Flint asked, moving cautiously, locking the door behind him.

“I didn’t feel it when I was there, I didn’t feel it when I was killing him. I feel it now. I feel it all, now.” Silver gasped. He was shaking.

“You should sit down.” Flint said, concerned.

Silver shook his head violently.

“No! I- I can’t- I- I need to- Fuck, I don’t know, I can’t think. _Captain,_ I-“ Silver was babbling now, fingers scratching at the desk as if he was looking for something to hold on to.

Flint hissed and took two strides, slotting himself behind Silver, an arm wrapping itself around Silver’s torso, drawing him to Flint. He pressed his forehead against the back of Silver’s neck.

“I know. I know, I know, I’m sorry, I know. It’s okay.” Flint whispered to Silver, his body sent into overdrive by Silver’s warmth, the way all of Silver pushed back into the contact, desperate for comfort.

It was the first time they touched since that night on Maroon Island, the first time since Flint had to leave Silver behind as a promise, the first time the eyes of all the men and Maddi weren’t following their every step.

Silver let out a sound that might have been a sigh just as it could have been a sob, and one of his hand grabbed the one Flint had put on his stomach, lacing their fingers. His grip was painful and Flint wanted it to last forever, to remind them both that they were still here, together. That they were real.

“He said that if you were alive, you would never have sent me. That I was nothing, an invalid, half a man.” Silver murmured, fingers spasming around Flint’s as he spoke.

Flint growled and wrapped his other arm around Silver’s shoulders, dragging him upright and supporting most of his weight.

“Dufresne was a fucking idiot, and we both know it. He cost us the Urca gold once, he certainly wasn’t going to take _this_ from us. Not our lives, not out future, not _this_. And if he was too much of an imbecile to recognize that you are twice the man he ever was, then he didn’t deserve the death he had. He didn’t deserve to be spoken of, over and over again. His story didn’t deserve to be linked to _yours._ He should have been gutted and left in a back alley, and no one would have _cared._ ” Flint growled against Silver’s neck, and he felt the man shiver against him, lean back against him, trusting him.

“It felt _good,_ proving to him that my leg wasn’t a weakness.” Silver whispered brokenly, his free hand reaching back to cup the back of Flint’s head, pressing it harder against his neck.

Flint said nothing. He could feel Silver’s mind spin as he looked for the proper words to express the chaotic whirlpool in his head. He felt in the way Silver shook, the way his breathe were harsh and irregular, the way he would press a bit heavier against Flint. Flint simply held him tighter.

“It terrified me.” Silver said at last, shivering.

“I know.” Flint answered, and he did. The beast in his chest was roaring, and he could almost hear the one in Silver’s, the one that just barely woke, answer.

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make it go away.” Silver said. ‘I don’t want to become like you.’ He left unsaid.

“I’m sorry.” Was all Flint could answer. He had brought this on Silver. He had made him stay. He had ruined him.

He couldn’t let go. Not now. Not as long as Silver didn’t ask him to.

“Don’t be. Just-” Silver stopped himself, but his fingers tightened. ‘Just stay there. Just remind me I have something to stay human for. Remind me I still have someone. Don’t let me burn like you did.’ His body said.

“I will.” Flint promised out loud. “As long as I can, I will.”

They stayed silent for a long moment, Flint easily holding some of Silver’s weight so the man could remain standing. Slowly, Silver stopped shaking, and his grip on Flint’s fingers relaxed, but never let go.

“Now, at least, one of the scary stories they tell of my name will actually be one of my own, rather than stolen from you.” Silver said with a faint laugh.

“That was indeed a feat I would have trouble replicating.” Flint answered with a grin. The slight twitch in Silver’s fingers told him the man had felt it against his skin. Flint suddenly had the impulse to press a kiss against the tantalising warmth of Silver’s neck, but he pushed it back.

That wasn’t what Silver needed tonight. The last thing he needed was something else to knock him off balance.

“How glad will be the people to tell of the One Legged Creature killing good English folk with its terrifying claw.” Silver sneered with a bitter edge to his voice.

“How inspired will be all the pirates to hear about this formidable man fighting by their side who was not even defeated by losing his leg, but only used it to make himself greater.” Flint retorted, letting his perverse pride slip in his voice. Silver automatically pushed back against him with a sigh.

If he closed his eyes, James could still see Silver as he was ten years ago, eyes clear and smile bright, getting in trouble for tricking games of cards.

Captain Flint would have been the downfall of that John Silver.

 

The one he held in his arms now, however, would survive anything. He might even survive Flint.

This John Silver felt like he was made for him, like their paths had finally joined after crossing each other over and over again.

“People will fear my name.” Silver said, sounding in awe at the idea.

“As they should.” Flint whispered fervently in answer.

Slowly, he started shifting. At once, Silver’s grasp on his fingers and neck became like a vice, imperious and demanding. Flint’s fingers squeezed back in answer, reassuringly.

“Come.” He whispered softly against Silver’s neck.

The other man obeyed, and without turning back allowed Flint to walk them over to his cot. Flint only let go as he climbed on, but Silver was only a second behind, pushing Flint over so that this time he was the one holding the Captain, with Flint’s back against his front.

“Captain?” Silver asked, fingers tracing slow distracting circles on Flint’s belly.

“Hmm?” Flint answered. He almost asked Silver to call him James, but he changed his mind. There would be time later.

“Just so you don’t start getting ideas,” Silver said, voice teasing like it hadn’t been in far too long, “I don’t care how good of a story it would make, I’m not going to start running around to step on the face of everyone who doubts us. I’m too old for this crap. You’ll have to be the one defending our honor next time.”

Flint couldn’t help but snort at that, and he patted Silver’s hands patronizingly. Silver wasn’t done, however, and he kept going as he shifted to a more comfortable position, draping himself a bit further over Flint in the process.

“Of course, we’ll have to find you a memorable instrument. We wouldn’t want you to be overshadowed by my genius. I was thinking maybe some kind of sturdy gold plated telescope. Or maybe a killer parrot that you could keep on you shoulder to peck out the eyes of your enemies when they dare show their faces.” Silver offered, voice thoughtful.

Flint snorted again, and reached behind himself to grab a few of Silver’s curls and tug. Silver yelped indignantly, and let go of Flint briefly to bat his hand away.

“Go to sleep, you little shit.” Flint said, voice light and amused.

“I’m just saying, if we’re to fight this war through gossip and stories, we should really endeavour ourselves to find you some kind of unique and signature weapon. It would make it all so much more interesting.” Silver prodded.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m Captain Fucking Flint, the scourge of the sea. I can raid half a dozen ships at the same time and kill men with a single glare. I can even turn into a shark. I think I’ll do just fine.” He answered. Somehow, here, now, with Silver holding him, the thought of all these people fearing him, hating him, wishing him dead didn’t feel like being ripped from the inside like it usually did.

“True. I don’t think the legend has much more to add to Captain Fucking Flint. You’re right, we should definitely talk more about his second-in-command, the dashing John Silver.” Silver said, and Flint just _knew_ he was grinning.

“Sleep. Now.” He answered, with a grin of his own. Silver hummed, pressing himself closer to Flint for a few second before relaxing and slipping into sleep.

 

OOOOOO

 

“Will you tell me? What happened to Lieutenant James McGraw?” Silver had asked.

At the eve of battle, Flint had looked over to John Silver in the flickering light of their lamp, and found himself unable to refuse him anything.

Found himself wishing for someone to understand him, understand what made him.

So he told Silver, let the other man grab his hand has he told him of Thomas’ faith. He let Silver see him, without pity in his eyes, but only true and deep empathy.

When he had no more words to tell, he stopped, and Silver took over, telling him of his own dark thoughts, of how he feared that the power he now had over the crew would one day turn against Flint.

“Do you wish to do me harm?” Flint asked, his eyes never leaving Silver’s face.

“No. I wish nothing less, now. But there might come a day where I will have to choose between your life and mine, and I know I will not choose you.” His words dropped into a whisper. He wasn’t ashamed of himself, Flint knew. Flint had known that Silver was selfish and self-preserving above all else before he knew anything else of the man.

Silver already knew that this choice would be excruciating painful for him nonetheless.

“You will choose what’s best for you, and if one day that is for you to get rid of me, I will not have any less regard for you.” Flint said simply. Silver looked up slowly, eyes searching deep into Flint’s.

“I’ve survived pirates, storms, starvation, a king, a queen, and if the stars are on our side, tomorrow, I’ll have survived the fucking English Navy. If after all this bullshit, you are to be my downfall, I’ll go to my grave a peaceful man.” Flint added.

He add barely stopped talking when Silver lunged forward with a growl, grabbing Flint’s shirt and dragging him to his lips. Flint went willingly, hands falling to Silver’s sides, gently tugging the other man until he was sitting on his lap.

Silver groaned again, opening his mouth, turning the kiss wet and blazing. His hands grabbed the back of Flint’s neck, tugging him closer, a bit closer, always closer.

Flint gently tangled his fingers through Silver’s curls, letting the other man lead them, giving him everything he asked for, letting him nip and suck and lick at Flint’s mouth.

“You will not die tomorrow.” Silver whispered harshly against Flint’s lips. “We have agreed, you will not die until I decide it, and I forbid you to die tomorrow.” He ordered, growling.

Flint shivered and nodded slowly, mindful of not knocking his forehead against Silver’s.

“Then I will come back.” He promised solemnly. Silver’s fingers twitched against his neck, and he caught Flint’s lips against, urgent and feverish.

Silver was pliant and warm and intoxicating in his lap. Flint didn’t want to let go, wanted to lay Silver down on the earth and slowly take him apart.

Silver pushed himself away from Flint, and a single look told Flint he was thinking the same. With disappointment curling in his gut, Flint shook his head almost unnoticeably.

“I will come back tomorrow.” Flint said instead. ‘And we’ll finish this properly, at last’ he and Silver told each other with their eyes and their hands and their breaths.

Slowly, Silver got to his foot, Flint’s hands on his hips helping his wobbly knees and weak leg. The walk back to the village was full of a silent tension that crackled every time they looked at each other, every time one of Silver’s uneven steps brought him too close to Flint, every time Flint reached to steady him.

Leaving Silver that night was frustrating. Leaving Silver the following morning was terrifying.

 

OOOOOO

 

When Silver finally found his way back to Flint after the fight, the sun had fallen behind the tree line, and Flint was trying to plan out their next step with Rackham and Teach.

He couldn’t exactly blame Silver for taking his time. There had been much to do in the wake of battle, and Silver was the only one Maddi and her mother truly trusted to take care of it.

Nevertheless, the short glimpse of Silver across the river hadn’t been enough to sooth Flint’s nerves, and he felt like he was about to jump out of his skin when the Quartermaster walked through the door with Maddi.

Silver’s eyes immediately found Flint’s and didn’t falter. His face was clear, and he didn’t seem to be favouring any limb, at least not more than usual, but Flint itched to check nevertheless.

Maddi followed Silver’s gaze, and an understanding look settled on her face.

“Gentlemen, we’ve all had a very long day. Why don’t we reconvene tomorrow, when everyone will feel more at ease?” She asked.

Teach nodded brusquely and left the room without further ado, but Rackham and Bonny sent a look at Flint, making sure he agreed. A curt nod sent them on their way, and Maddi left last, closing the door behind her.

As soon as they were alone, Flint strode toward Silver, sliding a hand to his waist, eyes looking him up and down over and over again, trying to reassure himself.

Silver’s hand shot up, to grab Flint’s chin and force him to look up at Silver.

“I was over a hundred meters removed from any kind of violence. If anyone has any right to be worried, it should be me inspecting you.” He said drily, cocking an eyebrow.

Satisfied with Silver’s apparent well-being, Flint grinned at him.

“Well, no one’s stopping you.” He offered.

Silver’s eyes darkened, and he grabbed Flint’s shirt, tugging it roughly.

“This. Off. Now.” He demanded.

Flint complied easily, knowing Silver would find nothing but the remnants of old battles. Silver let out a low, appreciative sound as Flint’s chest was uncovered, and he stepped forward, curling a firm hand around Flint’s ribs. The blue had almost disappeared from his eyes, and he slowly walked around Flint, devouring him with hungry looks.

Flint straightened his back and relaxed his shoulders, offering himself entirely to Silver’s scrutiny. Silver’s hand never left his skin, trailing delicious warmth everywhere it touched Flint’s.

When he had finished his turn, Silver stepped up to Flint, catching his mouth, demanding hungry kisses that Flint was all too happy to give him. The fabric of Silver’s shirt felt unbearably rough against his skin, and he tugged it out of Silver’s pants.

“This is feeling a bit one sided.” He said against Silver’s lips.

“Well, given that it is your fault it took us this fucking long to get here, you’ll forgive me for taking my time to enjoy the moment.” Silver said, poking Flint on the chest.

“How is it my fault?” Flint asked, incredulous.

“I offered. Multiple times.” Silver answered, leering at Flint.

“You were being a little shit, that’s what you did.” Flint growled, tugging at Silver’s hair.

“Be that as it may be, you were still the stubborn one in this scenario.” Silver said, dragging his nails deliciously down Flint’s back.

“I- I couldn’t-” Flint started, looking away. Silver didn’t let him finish, catching his lips in a searing kiss once more, before panting against his mouth.

“Can you now?” he asked.

“Fuck yes.” Flint groaned, grabbing Silver by the hips, trailing burning kisses from his jaw to his throat until his lips met fabric, and he pushed Silver a centimeter away in frustration. “Take your shirt off.” He growled.

Silver took a step back, to make sure not to hit Flint in the face, and he gave him a filthy grin. Flint missed his warmth instantly, but the thrill of seeing smooth, tanned skin appear from under the shirt more than made up for it.

“Aye aye, Captai-”

“James.” Flint’s mouth moved before he could think, before Silver could finish his sentence. They both froze for a second, staring at each other, Silver still in the middle of removing his shirt. Flint swallowed and repeated. “James.” In a whisper

Silver’s smile stretched into a thrilled beam.

“Yes, James.” He answered, and quickly tugged his shirt over his head, throwing it away.

In a second they were grasping at each other again, skin at last against skin, and Flint- _James_ felt like a starving man eating for the first time in weeks. He wanted to gorge himself on Silver.

Silver grabbed his ass, bringing their groins together and James wrenched himself away with a broken gasp.

“ _Silver._ ”

Silver shook his head roughly, his curls hitting James’ face softly.

“John, please, for tonight, John.” He asked urgently. James brought him back for a kiss, before murmuring “John” against his lips. Silver answered with a “James” of equal reverence.

Silver- _John_ kissed James again, a heavy, wet kiss that stole what little breath James had left. James groaned, pushing back, asking for more, begging for what would appease the fire crackling in his veins. John gave him more, always more, hands clawing at James’ back like he wanted to crawl under his skin.

James would be more than willing to let him try.

James felt John starting to shake from the effort of staying upright. He tried to break away, just for a moment, just for a second, just to make sure he was fine.

As soon as he felt James shift back, John growled and tightened his arms almost painfully around James, nipping and licking sinfully at James’s mouth, refusing to be denied this.

James couldn’t deny him. He wasn’t sure he would ever want to.

Instead, he reached under John’s ass, grabbing his thighs and lifting him up. With a gasp that melted into a delighted groan, John wrapped his legs around James’ waist.

He slowly walked over to the cot in the back of the room, and slowly bent down to deposit John gently on it.

John allowed himself to be set down, but as soon as he was settled, he drew James back to him. James had no choice but to straddle John’s lap. They both groaned approvingly at the new position, and John instantly attached his mouth to James’ throat, one cupping the back of his head as the other grabbed his thigh, as if keeping him there, as if James could ever leave while John’s clever, clever mouth was nipping and sucking at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

He deftly undid the tie keeping John’s hair off his face and sunk his fingers in it, scratching the scalp. He tangled his fingers happily through the curls. John groaned against his throat, and gave him a hard nip that had James grunting and tugging lightly at John’s hair.

“Yeah you bastard. _You_ just had to shave _your_ fucking head clean before I could have you.” John accused darkly, the hand on Flint’s thigh moving up to pinch James’ nipple hard in retaliation and James’ moaned.

“Jesus, James, do you have any idea how you sound?” John asked, his own voice dark and hoarse.

James tugged him up to capture his lips, hot and sloppy and wet, twisting his hips roughly to feel John’s hard cock and rip a moan from the man’s throat.

He broke away, grinning down at Silver the dark smile that used to scare the man into silence, but now only had him shivering in anticipation.

“Not half as good as you will.” He promised before sliding off of John’s lap despite the man whine of protest.

He quickly fell silent when James pushed his legs apart and settled on his knees in front of him.

“ _James._ ” John breathed out, as if he had been punched.

“Yes, John?” James couldn’t resist teasing, as he trailed his hands up and down John’s leg, the tip off his fingers teasing the inside of his thighs before moving away again, making John huff every time.

“And you call me a little shit.” John growled, fingers trying to get purchase on the back of James’ head, not pushing him to anything, only asking for more.

“You are the worse shit I’ve ever had to misfortune of encountering, Mister Silver.” James answered, with a grin, and when John opened his mouth to reply, he leaned forward to press his face to John’s groin. He inhaled John’s scent, mouthing at his erection through the thick fabric of his pants, and John fell back against the wall, whatever answer that had been at the tip of his tongue getting lost in a long moan.

“And I would trade your presence at my side for nothing. Tonight, and any other night I had you.” James finished, pulling himself apart, fingers scrambling to untie John’s breaches. John caught on quickly, and shifted to help James.

“Well, I have to say, that is a depressingly short list to draw such conclusions from.” John said, cocking an eyebrow at him as he pushed his breaches down his thighs. The fabric caught around the straps that held his peg leg to his stump. James went to untie it, but he hesitated, looking back up at John.

The man was staring down at him, stiff, eyes guarded. James wanted to kiss the horrendous expression of his face, but he stayed where he was, letting his fingers brush gently against the leather.

“Can I?” He asked in a whisper, watching John carefully. He could do this with the boot, but the thought of accidently causing John pain was sickening. After half an eternity, John nodded almost unnoticeably. With a kiss on his knee, James removed the leg as gently as he could, leaving John, at last, gloriously naked.

James drew back, letting his eyes slowly sweep over John’s body, drinking him in, tongue sticking out to wet his lips.

“Well, we should do our best to amend this dreadful situation.” He grinned up at John, going back to what they were saying previously. The man smiled back down at him wide and open and gorgeous, relieved that James made no more fuss over his leg.

James leaned back in, and started peppering kisses to the inside of John’s thigh, delighted at the smooth, pale skin he found there. He nipped and sucked and licked as John panted above him, fingers digging into the back of James neck.

When James finally took him in his mouth, sucking at the tip of his cock, John arched his back with a strangled gasp. His legs tightened around James’ shoulders, and James felt warm and safe in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

He hadn’t been in a man since Thomas, but the brief twinge of grief and guilt was quickly extinguished as John scratched his nails on his scalp.

John was so amazingly responsible, so unashamedly completely himself that James couldn’t have lost himself in the past even if he wished to.

With such a man as John Fucking Silver undone by his touch, what kind of imbecile would wish to be anywhere but the present?

James moaned as he took more of John in his mouth. John almost sobbed, his back arching and his hips twitching.

He wouldn’t last long, James read in the violent shivers wracking through him, in his eyes where all the brilliant blue had disappeared, in his fingers that tangled with James’, desperate for more connection.

James doubled his efforts, head bobbing up and down, sucking and licking. On another night, he would lay down John and tease him for hours. Tonight, he would give him everything he asked for, everything he deserved, everything James owed him.

John tried to push him away with a warning, but James only backed down until the tip of his cock remained in his mouth, hollowing his cheek as he hummed, the invitation clear in his eyes.

John’s eyes rolled back in their sockets as he curled himself over James’ head. His muscles shook and twitched as he came, semen shooting in James’ mouth.

Only when John started shifting from oversensitivity did James let his softening cock slip from his lips, leaning back on his heels, resting his forehead on John’s thigh as he tried to catch his breath.

“James.” John whispered, and God have mercy, he sounded _wrecked._

James looked up, and John was staring down at him, eyes at once content and _starving._ James had been dutifully ignored his erection until now, but his desire crashed back into him, leaving him breathless.

“You’re too far.” John murmured, one hand cupping James’ jaw, his thumb catching at the corner of his lips.

As if entranced, James got to his feet, pressing closer to John. Without ever breaking eye contact, John slowly leaned back so he was laying back on the cot. James followed him helplessly, until he was laying on top of John, holding just enough of his weight up to not crush him, but still pressing himself to the other man from their calves to their foreheads.

John huffed in frustration, and before James could ask him what was wrong, quickly untied James’ breaches. He pushed them down almost violently, and James was pretty sure he had ripped something or another, but couldn’t bring himself to care as he pushed himself back against John’s. The man’s warmth felt like it could burn him alive.

“Close enough?” he asked, keeping as still as he could, despite the urge to rut against John’s thigh.

“Not if you can still talk.” John answered, drawing him into a kiss as one leg hooked itself over his hips, pressing his other thigh to James’ groin.

That was all the invitation James needed, and he pushed down against John, losing himself in the bliss that sparked up his spine.

He moaned John’s name over and over again as he sought completion. John answered every one of them with a “James” of his own.

That, even more than anything else, more than Silver’s warm body and maddening touch and greedy fingers, was his undoing.

He came against the skin of someone chanting his name, his _real_ name. He was wrapped in the warmth of someone who knew him completely, _absolutely,_ and still refused to let go of him. John held in tight as James went limp on top of him, panting wetly against his neck.

James rolled over before his weight crushed John. The other man only let him go so he could follow, rolling on his side as well, throwing a leg over James’ and an arm around his shoulders.

John tucked himself under James’ chin, and James wrapped one arm around John, the other hand coming up to play in John’s hair.

“You have a weird fixation about my hair, for someone who denied _me_ the same pleasure.” John complained half-heartedly, pushing softly into the contact nonetheless.

“Not everything is about you, you little shit.” Flint grumbled in answer, huffing a laugh to soften any hurt his words might cause.

“Blasphemy.” Silver answered, kissing Flint’s jaw gently. “Haven’t you heard I’m a self-serving little shit? Everything should always be about me.”

“I think the crew might have something to say about that.” Flint replied, choosing not to mention himself. He knew the balance Silver and he would have the strike to function as partners, both as Captain and Quartermaster and as _this_ would be a very delicate one, and he was still too blissful to attempt it now.

“Nonsense, I told you they love me far too much for that. Haven’t I proved my point today?” Silver answered.

Flint simply hummed, scrapping his nails against Silver’s scalp. The other man sighed softly, melting a little more against him.

“What happens tomorrow?” Trust Silver to still run his mouth after sex. Regardless, Flint could hardly refuse him an answer on that matter.

“Well, I suppose Maddi with want her room back.” Flint said, drily. Silver snorted.

“There’s always the Walrus, assuming Rackham brought it back in a proper shape.” Silver quipped.

“You presume this will happen on the Walrus?” Flint asked, amused.

“Oh please, like you’ve never wanted to fuck me over that damned desk of yours.” Silver said, trailing a teasing finger up Flint’s side.

Flint remained silent, which was all the answers Silver needed, and Flint felt him grin against his chest.

“You would do it there? Where any of your crew could see it?” Flint asked, keeping his tone light.

“Even if I cared that they knew, which I don’t, by the way, since there isn’t a single soul on that ship with any standing to judge me or think less of me for being with you. But even if I did, all of these men are far too terrified of you to even approach your cabin without being summoned.” Silver answered.

“Billy might.” Flint said.

“Well, Billy could use a broadening of his horizons anyway.” Silver quipped.

Flint snorted at the expression Billy might wear, should he walk in on Silver and him, but resolved to make sure the door would be locked every time Silver looked amorous.

Silver huffed a laugh in answer, but said no more, finally consenting to letting the both of them slip into sleep.

 


End file.
